On my way home
I touched the stone
Of my local church.
And longed to stay
With the singing birds
On this summer evening.
I have oft heard
The birds singing
And regretted leaving.
I envy them
For, unlike men
They do not weep.
For they see not
The final sleep.
While I
Knowing that man must die
Have the beauty of birdsong,
Which does not last long
A circular seat
Encompassing a tree.
Age will defeat
Thee and me.
I see the sun shine
Think on the divine
And the tick tock
Of the ever-present clock.
I hear the blackbird
Who has heard
Not of clock,
And my fleeting word.
I would rather be a tree
In the midst of the wood.
For in woodland glades
The traffic noise fades,
And the song of the bird
Fills the heart of the wood.
And the poet’s word
Is as nought to the bird.
A shadow followed me
From tree to tree
As I did pass
Along the woodland path.
I paused to hear
The sweet birds sing.
And thought of spring
And the passing year.
Although I forgot my shadow,
My shadow did not go.
For our sweet birdsong
Does not last long.
Barely a bird I heard.
The wind blew,
And a fallen tree
Spoke to me
In words most true
Of the progress of humanity.
As I
Pass by
A tree
I hear the wind,
And ponder
On my mortality.
And wonder,
How many see
In wind and tree,
Their own mortality.
I heard a bird
Flap, in winter’s air.
He will fly,
I know not where.
While I
Shall go
In Winter’s snow.
Does he know
His journey’s end?
And what of thee
And me
My friend?
On a chilly winter’s night
The song of a bird
I heard
As he sang to me
From a churchyard tree.
Such delight,
And poignancy.
But that was in me.
A myriad sparrows singing
To me from a tree.
Their song
Bringing joy
To girl and boy.
I know not how long
My song
May be.
But sparrows in a tree,
Sang to me.
