Our finches carry on without government
Robins are free , song filled and independent
The autumn trees ne'er proclaim a 'leader'
A catbird tends to it's affairs without a throng
of 'believers'
The homing pigeons squawk at my propensity for guitar , pen and paper , raw penchant for melody , song and fable
My friends are a shut door , a curtain pulled closed , a light switch clicked to off , a compulsion for sweet silence , a star in the western horizon
Blazed and glazed at night am I
Getting right with Randolph at twilight* ..