Listen to the birds; they sing
each morning at dawn’s lifting,
before the dew dries away
as the now becomes today.
Who knows why they keep at it?
Most see no real benefit
in trilling out little tunes;
there’s much work to do by noon.
We sing so little these days,
getting ourselves bent sideways
with the world, so full of fear,
letting beauty disappear
when we could celebrate it.
Each evening is still moonlit,
and darkness is so quiet.
We need a song. Just try it.
12 MAY 2025
© 2025, John Litzenberg. All rights reserved.