The Ballad of a Birds Soul
Is a lying dream only wakes a cloud.
Heaven----tasseled feathers; no touch of noise in the verse.
Slowly, lightly away, the scabbard falls.
Gracefully I call quick and I shall thrust once for all.
A fowl 'neath your breast where the blue opens.
No need to rhyme for the rest in the rain.
Lunging there, hold tight.
A poet of one, a ballad so high.