A Songbird’s Heart

After the hundredth birdsong sung,

on a morning draped with fog,

a crow landed

on the chimney’s top

and chased all the sparrows to fly

away from home,

like bastards of youth

learning skills to earn their bread,

mustering troops to war,

beating

a drum in March,

when the grass will return

in spring,

and the birds will come

again to lull us into our morning;

evening twilight vocations;

mom and dad swing the hammer,

while

baby bird lusts over food,

swaddled

inside,

a warmth like a lung, as the

crows circle and wait,

distance is

a culling,

divine and serene,

but night has an evil way of distancing

hearts and numbing heads,

so take up arms

birds of song,

fights crows

until their beaks plunder no more,

and your sweet sounds call Easter

to the front of war,

singing the

praise of change as sweetly

as it has ever been done before

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~ by Shawn M. Young on February 9, 2018.

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