Olivia Chevron
Songbird
Coveted, sought after and longed for.
To obtain is a mighty cumbersome chore.
Come from a place of luscious green.
A place of Paradise where I have been.
The colouring of their feathers,
Calming, soothing and serene.
Where to find him?
In the foliage, and between
The branches, the twigs, the undergrowth.
Where they can be seen in pairs:
One and two equals both.
Their song is daunting and enthralling.
Like the sound of waterdrops afalling.
Their sound is pure, and innate.
The beats so punctual, never late.
They coo each other.
They woo each other.
One’s the father.
One’s the mother.
The memory of a long gone child.
A number that remains undialled.
The whisper of an offspring.
Shattered.
Like a vase of Ming.
And yet they continue to be together,
And sing.
Wednesday 10 November 2004
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Publié sur e-Stories.org sur 08.02.2006.
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