life might lead on like a patterned string
in avalanches of winters and spatters of spring
but I still don't know why the blackbird sings

She swoops and jives on sinatra's swing
but her eyebags halo like saturn's rings
and she patters around on tattered wings
purposefully hunting for the wasps sting
but why the blacker the bird the sweeter the sing

and its like through all that clattering
she can't hear she matters more than every thing