Birds in Spring

morning doves and whippoorwills fill the springtime air,

a song so sweetly enduring, as if in some despair,

through the night and first at dawn, no pause in the sweet tune

and children cry and lovers sigh in the limn of the low moon


the buds of May burst bright, the colors fade to thought,

urged away by more ancient tunes, like the summer sun grows hot,

the mountain shadows chill the wind, and the pinyon bird sings louder still

if there be no rhythm to time, there would be no weight to the will








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