The Song of the Birds

What are my little airborne friends trying to say to me

On this particular day

In May. Could it be

The joy of life and every breath

That springs from all who dwell on earth?

Or might it be a melody

Of praise to God Almighty? Filled with wonder

At how it all began. And stays

Wondrous in its beauty and its form,

In spite of dark and dire news

That fills the space where small wings fly.

Do they hear the rage and rambling

Of demented human minds,

Even those in places

High and lifted up, like palaces and Houses

White and guarded?

Perhaps they know, and yet they fill

The skies with what they can,

To bring the light and hope and peace

That we must surely need

To keep our minds from falling

In despair for what we’ve done

To mar the face of this good earth

And try to stop the mouths of those

Who will not be denied.