Bird, Grass, and Wind
A passerine’s upon an oaken bough
With roosted tune, enduring, never new
Extending through the woods eternal vows
His coat—and heart—a craven ocher hue.
This strain of strain does aggravate the wind
So breezes carry off the toiling tune.
No matter how the fledgling finds it’s sinned,
It’s raw to currents’ wishes to commune.
But blades of grass do sway with gale’s desire,
The gale, in turn, proceeds as flora sway,
Now here, now there, not ever arranged as prior,
But always matching harmonies they play.
A world’s vibrations always undulate,
So bliss shall come for souls without constraint.