I linger on my lounge, reveling,
in the warmth the sun is bringing,
my heart contemplating,
the songs I hear a bird singing.
His winged beauty catches my eye,
as he silently sails to rest,
in the lilac tree beside my porch,
puffing out his indigo chest.
He seems to bow toward me,
before he again performs,
amid flower blossom curtains,
into a stage the tree transforms.
What an outstanding concert he brings,
he’s a songbird extraordinaire,
that composes his hymn-like music,
upon a sky blue page of air.
Feathered friend, I watch you,
see you swaying in the breeze,
your lovely chants caress my soul,
as they echo through the trees.
Oh beautiful songbird, I’m grateful
your recital to me is lent,
but sung with such strong emotion,
for whom are those songs really meant?
Are they tunes of love, I wonder,
or of want, wisdom or woe,
of mystery or ancient knowledge,
how curious I am to know!
He turns to me, with gentle gait,
shifts majestically, adjusts his wing,
silently speaks with a sagacious stare,
then again begins to sing.
Suddenly I grasp the message,
it’s not the reason or the rhyme,
nor the melody of his song,
but that he takes the time.
I realize it doesn't matter,
what the weather today may bring,
sunshine or stormy weather,
it only matters that he sings!
That little blue feathered prophet,
then looks toward heaven, I swear,
and seems to raise his wings in praise,
before nodding and leaving me there.
That wise and beautiful songbird,
who’s lyrical lesson, I extol,
etches a message in my humbled heart,
an outstanding memory in my soul!
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