Birdsong

The birds are singing in the woods,
life, love, and beauty
are epitomised, intertwined
in one note vibrating
within a dove’s collared throat,
but in the cool shade of the wood
one melancholy note rises and falls,
the blackbird calls to her chick on the ground,
a naked, bald thing
still half within the speckled shell,
it lies in the shadow
of the ferns and brambles
dead before it could be alive.

Reviews

[Quinn W]

It started out so innocent and sweet, the it really took a turn. I give you credit, though, you write very smoothly and get a message across.