The Blackbird

 
How does he do it?
His brain no more than finger nail,
singing a scale of notes I cannot sing
nor can forget.
What does he say? It seems he knows
but what? Is there some communication...
a radiating beam that strikes the tiles?
The message always clearer
when he sings upon the roof.

Black as night, she, brown discrete, a job to do
Keep warm and safe. Silence is the key.
Eight is late, to bed, one last egg to hatch.
If he could write would he write it down.....
All those notes without a scale, more than twelve,
An alphabet of sounds as random as the sea?
Would he even try ? Each note is sent its way
the thought... if thought there be, lost above the roof.

There is no past for him no future, all is now.
No thinking in the melody but joy and being well.
Yesterday? What is that? Never heard of yesterday.
Of today..........doesn’t even care.
How long will it be? What is long ? Is it a worm?
A brain no more than fingernail only room for hope.

Maybe I'm wrong.........
Is there a message in your song
Save joy?
Do I leave a space to listen, to you kind soul?
Your life so short . . .‘though long enough,
Just long enough, no more.
When song is gone so will you be gone .
It’s all you want to do.