But Summer Comes After Winter's.
The still bird whose voice is her life:
The still bird whose fearful trill rife,
The still bird whose twittering strife,
The still bird whose life hopes for life.
I know what her twittering sings;
The fearful trill of flapping wings
are held on tears as shrill voice sings,
For things unknown, known things she sings.
I know the art of the still bird;
Of touching will as darting bird,
Of flow'ng flood'd streams of things unheard;
The silent rhythm of still bird.
Oh bird, hold your peace and merry;
For grandeur days are old weary,
And the distant hill is scary;
But summer comes after winter's.
"words from the innocent mind"