high up on the tree, its voice
fills the air with nostalgia.
Memories from yesterdays
when we thought we knew it all
and frolicked to harmonies
played out by hundreds of them.
The sounds of orchestral bliss,
that followed us to the ground
where we would lie on the grass
dreaming of what they could do
with those calls of emotion.
Then they would fly away fast,
in mass movement together
in an extraordinary
escape from the whistler
who thought they might understand.
Perhaps they did; flew away
just to tell the other birds
what the girl wanted to say:
that she loved their songs always,
and wanted them just to stay.
But then the sun would go down,
and we would run home to eat
forgetting about the one
who stayed to sing a lonesome
melody for the girl who
understood what true love was:
it was you and me in dreams
from the future or the past.
We knew the birds and the bees
would lead us to each other
someday, sending us love songs.
That's what I imagine now,
wIth the solitary bird
high up on it's lonely perch,
just waiting for its love mate.
Like I waited for you
even before I knew that
you were calling for me too.
