Thursday, May 29, 2008

May Morning

Open wide as a market umbrella,
a white crape myrtle shades my front lawn
newly pebbled with patches of yellow
knots of dandelions. Just after dawn
I wake to the sound of glad singing
breaking forth in a song without words.
There’s no need for a language, the meaning
resonates from the joy of the birds.

To their open air concert I’m bringing
only bare feet and sleepy, green eyes,
and my coffee, of course, while I’m flinging
on a tee-shirt and blue jeans. I rise
up sky-lighted on many-a-morning
to the beauty of nature’s adorning.

1 comment:

shunammite said...

I have often wondered why the birds sing like mad right before dawn and right after, it really sounds as if they are bursting with joy...they must not remember that the sun was up the day before...every day they go nuts again.. lovely poem...