The Birdsong

The birdsongs in the morning
Sing their notes, ending on one
Like it were a nursery hymn.
The people used to sing like so.
And now they don't.
As a wise man once said, the peoples had music
In them at a time... and now they don't.
No... it's not that they don't, it's that they can't.
For the melody in their hearts,
And the common tongue is made to stammer
And is drowned out by busy work
Which makes them unable to understand a thing.
Maybe I'm just crazy, but I understand whatever someone tells me.
Maybe listening, and knowing, is all I ever had---
But the Birdsongs are less frequent now
And a rare blackbird comes by my way
Or a swallow or finch
I learned hard to listen to them, and communicate it to others why they sing.
So, maybe the world will forget it.
Maybe it will forget me.
But, I had music in my soul.
As a wise man once said.