526

To hear an Oriole sing
May be a common thing—
Or only a divine.

It is not of the Bird
Who sings the same, unheard,
As unto Crowd—

The Fashion of the Ear
Attireth that it hear
In Dun, or fair—

So whether it be Rune,
Or whether it be none
Is of within.

The “Tune is in the Tree—”
The Skeptic—showeth me—
“No Sir! In Thee!”

The living day, at sunset,
scatters all the happy creatures.
Suddenly it gets so quiet;
everyone is gone.

How frightening this is at first,
being left without a warning,
while dark descends with a cool,
and nothing minds but silence.

What a somber feeling,
to have walked a changing world,
and then having to stop for nighttime
reflects a deep unease.

Unwholesomeness at times erupts,
a simple thing to see it thus,
it clings to me and me to it,
for a place to stay another day.

So if I sit and let it pass,
as a friend I once 'hey'ed,
it will pass by, satisfied,
as a hat-off to a stranger 'bye.'

Oh sadness I now do invite
to dine with me whenever she pleases,
for I understand her loneliness,
therefor, let her be with me.

Oh sadness I now do trust,
for nothing more she wants but this,
to know another soul, to wit,
a name which satisfies memory.

Oh but sadness I now not know,
for what is her utmost depth,
do I trust myself to hold civility
when she at herself is best?

Sometimes I get mad at spiders,
forgetting that they are, what?
Simple beings like myself,
who live and squat in simple huts.

My better part of sanity
says I'm right in thinking this,
but all my learning tells me thus:
that they are spiders! Let them rust.

Of all the friendly shrews I've met,
they've come and gone to my regret,
but by their pace I think I see,
their means of immortality.

Seems to be so long ago
that life was to be celebrated,
with ones that love you, and you they,
with the whole world looking on.

But passing by that etched frame,
where once warmth emanated from within,
now brings a bigger picture in,
one away from the easel.

For nature was not a place to stay,
to warm the hands and sleep the day,
and to carry on in no peculiar manner
is to mosey on another way.