In the new
darkened hours of blued pristine dawn,
I had a
mysterious dreaming from heaven´s morn,
By unseen
voice I was told I should follow the bird,
But it was up
to me on which voice I heed & heard.
Is it the
coal-pitted voice of night´s ebony raven?
That I´m now
to follow to my sought after haven,
Maybe I
should follow the caw of the rambling rook,
I hear bubbling over that cool & mossy
green brook.
I seek asked
answers from the eagle on painted sky,
With empty
talon & beak where purple breezes sigh,
Must I really
follow every squeak, tweet & squawk?
Or wend my
lonely way along the path of the hawk?
I venture
where the ox-pecker seeks fresh red blood,
To the land where
the willing vulture awaits in mud,
Maybe what I
sleepily seek is in the voice of the gull,
Drifting upon
the airy thermals, to the icy isles of Mull.
The secret´s
not in the voice of the sweet nightingale,
Nor in the robin
sobbing where the cold winter wails,
I plead from
dove, thrush, wren & the little jackdaw,
To please show
me to the portals of Utopia´s front door.
I ask them all,
“Don´t you lead me on a path too far,
Into the fair
land of dreams, onto yonder Shangri-La?”
The dove coos,
the little lark laughs & the old owl hoots,
The colibri´s
wings strum to the tune of nature´s flutes.
I strain &
listen to my dream´s feathered wise voices,
Musical cacophony
of too many sleepy vocal choices,
Clinging on to
the last threads of sleep & so very weary,
And then I release
the gold lock of the sad caged canary.
Morpheus then
lifts the last vestiges of my restless sleep,
As I struggle
to cling to my plumed dream, calmed & deep,
When as the dawn
lifts my heavy lids, I hear her pretty song,
A little linnet´s
voice echoes, leading my way sweet & strong.
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