There was a bird that sang to me
Beneath the pear and plum tree.
It was there for days I dreamed
As winged spirit honey weaned.
When in time I’d come for song…
Winds had then rested too long,
And summers end sent melody
South to hills of tangerine.
What tree shall spring from these lands
Like the eager waters of the sea
And yield its blossoms, as if hands,
Pleading heaven for its tears.
Shall it yield its branch to Earth
As truth listens to nature’s plead
And in our heart its secrets birth,
Though will we …have agreed?
A stranger has left my town
Leaving the skies tired and gray,
And pine bristles to softly sound
As the wind chased him away.
He left for us a chill that settled
Hushing all that wake to song,
And an emptiness that meddled
In the human breath for long.
Even so outside I took
A little afterward walk.
Beside the keeping brook
I listened to a little talk.
Where I’m sure I listened to
A story silence covered…
A gentle truth that few knew
In this stream of his lingered.
What is the purest scent?
When a warm breeze divorces
Itself from the spring canopy,
Upon it sails the parfum of a flower
That is the shape of my soul.
When a day was just like so
And made still of stubborn crow,
I had thoughts I couldnt lose,
So they say of summer blues.
I then set out to find a friend
Out where our pastures end
And I found him where he stayed
Neath the oak that even’n swayed.
Where our younger days would walk
There wed have time taken talk,
There our thoughts met our dreams,
There they fell, lost by no means.
Shall birds sing away the mornings?
Will the trees converse…the days?
Can the carols of oh so few
Crickets sooth the nightly disdains?
Tell me not this band’s old musing,
For what good did it do…they,
Who listened lifetimes over, and
Left bodies to take the place of clay.
You have walked upon our land
Through your many journeys,
Though the same face
You have never shown her.
In her restlesness she flourishes
Through her faith she falls…
Despite your changing tears that settle
She knows that you are the same.
The eye’s blossom in midday’s shade,
Is open to droplets of rain
That spread into the infant petal…
Heavens milk in beauty’s kettle.
In quiet repose, forgotten shade
Beneath the pomegranate’s blade,
She fans the dancing, longing, wind
As though to hold faith her friend.
A winter wind arrived too soon,
Spilling spirits of a memory forth.
An embittered song of the North
Soaked my will with her tune.
She howled and cried and covered
The gorgeous Autumn colors,
And beat upon my wooden door,
And scratched upon my rusted shutters.
She tucked me in as a mother
Would lay her child to rest…
As night and day tottered together
Drunk near death in winters nest.
I found my heart upon a hill
That was to the sky a sill.
Though it lay upon old will,
I found a stone, that I found still.
Peace,
Abid
ahorsealone 
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