The Birds Sing

The birds sing, Lord, they do not mind who hears,
their self-expression is enough reward;
they toss songs off, no care if there are ears,
they pelt the blithe and bored with sweet accord.

The birds rejoice, when dawn begins to rise
to stretch her rosy fingers in the sky;*
they sing with joy, as if to rhapsodize
the honey bee, the rose, the butterfly.

God's gift to us, is just to hear their song
so we end up rejoicing at the dawn;
with each new trill, we're called to sing along
and hope anew before the day is gone.

When His birds sing, God is not deaf and blind
and so like us will not be far behind.

* A favorite saying in Virgil’s Aeneid.

                            -- by Pete Voelz         7/05