Released from salty skies or trees,
Crashed into darkened plains,
A treat indeed to hear the speech
Of finches freed from chains

They fluttered sweetly through the
Months that sometimes end with 'ember'.
As they fly straight through sunrays
Sparks cling if they're remembered.

And as the moon howls lullabies
And tunes her fiddle neatly,
Feathers flap and fold up high
For evidence fights so sneakily.

How will they climb the Redwoods
While they're cherished down below?
And, pray, partake in meals and feasts
With seedlings in a row.

Wishful wonders stem from songs
Of solar sons and sorrows,
They dart the pending prayers
And warmed baths of tomorrow.