I witnessed, in a song one summer day,
In lazy heat and sun, among the pines,
A courtship. What the singer had to say,
Meticulously parsed in sev'ral lines,
Each one a treasure, each alone sufficient
To call a mate in wonder to his side,
Recited whole, for fear he'd be deficient
In any part, lest others might deride
His efforts. And his efforts so exquisite
He accidentally attracted me.
Each summer I look forward to his visit,
Though honestly, I don't expect to see
His face. It doesn't matter. When he sings,
I stop, and set aside all other things.
Here is a link to the song of the wood thrush.


Salon.com
Comments
Thankyou.
Thankyou.