Poems of a Wayfarer

A little Bird warbled a tune. It tweeted in the forest of the night In music that arose from its soul. It had no choice but to intone.



It roused the neighboring beasts To look at the creature in the tree. Friendly ears picked up the tune Moving them to smile as brothers will.

To be a bird is to have the gift That brings melody to life. The bird sings to sweeten the air In trills that lift the sprit up.

To perfume the air with a lilting song Is a rare gift given to very few. It bestows a sense of majesty On those who can manage it true.