Jan 2021
O, my silent singing bird, how I worry for you this day; for without hymns or choruses, you have allowed the Sun to fade.
Lo, though I have your ear, your heart is anything... anywhere but near, but here; for you, my silent singing bird sings a song of silence; souless symphonies of sorrow your aid.
Were only your chirps of greeting and discourse of our hopeful meeting, I could hear; then I would think it a concert, and listen well to the performance that you have prepared.
Lo, though I have your ear, your heart is anything... anywhere but near, but here; for you, my silent singing bird sings a song of silence; souless symphonies of sorrow your aid.
Were only your chirps of greeting and discourse of our hopeful meeting, I could hear; then I would think it a concert, and listen well to the performance that you have prepared.
To a friend in his time of weeping, to a love both gentle and fair; your tearfall leaves me wishing, that I could wipe them all away.
