Blackbird perched in the dead of night
Resting till the mornings light
Not much noise, but a crickets chirp
A windmill blade, and a baby’s burp
Mother Nature takes her rest
She, our host
And we’re her guest
Blackbird falls from its nest
Wings spread out and feathered crest
Then swoops away before it hits
The only sound, when the wind resists
Nothing stirring, all is well
Besides the blackbird perched that fell