The Bird:

He is telling me a story, telling me once again.
Of something so stupendous his speech begins to blend.
Speak to me my friend, and tell me yet again.

He stumbles o’er his words, like a child at play,
Now I to listen intently to hear all he has to say,
“With care do but speak, and say what you have to say.”

He has been amongst the heavens, and seen a beauty splendid.
And out of love in heart to earth he has descended.
To stir our hope that’s ended, that no heart may be left un-mended.

If he could but slow his speech, perhaps then we could hear,
Of the beauty left to be spoke, to save us from our fears
Of a lie left too near, and the wicked left to leer.

Tell me my friend—tell me again, so that I might hope.
For I have fallen into despair and cannot climb the slope.
Make of me a hopeful man and instill in me a child’s hope.

You have lost me in your speech,
Leaving me with half a hope.


(I find song birds to be glorious messengers of God. Their every sound is necessarily a song...)