At the songs of the birds,

My heart erupts with joy

And streams of colour fill my world.

 

At the songs of the trees,

I catch the rusty leaves

Which crumble, softly, in my hand.

 

At the songs of the clouds,

I imagine myself

Floating, at untold altitudes.

 

At the songs of the grass,

I listen, intently,

For unlikely scraps of news.

 

At the songs of the earth,

I marvel, tasting soil,

At the scorching autumn odours.

 

At the songs of the war,

I sing along, aping

The dull monotony of death.