Birdsong
BIRDSONG
I set out tonight on the wood trail
along the stone wall, across the bridge,
and up the sky topped hill.
The sun poured down
a silky sovereignty,
making honey of the fields…
Pausing there
in the evening air,
I allowed my thoughts to still.
I do not need
to list right here
the dark cries of the world…
Yet the wild bird of the soul
still sings- softly,
fierce and sweet.
And the birds in the thicket,
too, have not given up
their song.
And you, my friend,
are you singing?
We’ve been quiet far too long.
~Ingrid Goff-Maidoff
(from a new collection in the works)