on knutsford boulevard the doctor bird
sips nectar from the blossoms in the noise
of passing traffic and the tall absurd
motions of people yet the creature's poise
is magical unaltered by the place
or human action honest of its kind
but still as brutal does not steal its grace
restoring beauty in a time that's blind
to this reality there's one more cast
that memory had woken an older tale
of pain and loss from a forgotten past
where all the goods must come at end to fail
yet truth will flutter on a humming wing
asking the heart in spite of all to sing