In the early morning
I traverse the grove
And hear the songbirds of those I love
They each have a voice
The deep voice of brother and friend
The chide of the sister whom I'll always amend
The growl of a father
Angry and terrible, a fiery rage
not soften a dulled by time and age
The jeer of a foe
The call of battle and cry of war
Though I know not what I fight them for
a plethora of sound
And all these voices I hear in the Glade
Amidst the trees and the shade
Then the cover breaks
And I see a sunlight clearing
As my vision cleans, so does
My hearing
A voice sang out
Like a soft crescendo of light and life
Nothing like the voices of strife
So I sit down here
And listen to the song bird
And slowly it is the only to be heard
Next time I visit
You can come too
Maybe you'll find the song bird that's you
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