In the neighborhood of birdsong
conversation is diverse,
my woods are ringing merrily
with melodies so well rehearsed
they come out pitched so perfectly
it sounds a choir
from tree to tree.
What right have I
to pen a chorus
when a constant composition
is forthcoming from the forest?
Each day a different arrangement,
their rendition ever new,
thus I immerse myself each evening
a true patron
sensing You.
