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)