A single call it was -
four fluid notes falling
lucid and luminous
into the silence of the valley.
Maybe the bird was declaring
the departure of daylight now
crowning the edges of leaves
in brilliant swansong.
Or maybe it was light itself
tinkling out a farewell,
a limpid promise of returning
on the wings of dawn.
The silence was somehow sweeter
as though the call after falling
had burst into a million pieces
of joy. And spread across the valley.
Into which sparrows had chirped
and other birds chattered and
the winds that chased each other
had seemed somewhat raucous.
Alas! The bird had flown,
to fill some other valley
with its luminous song.
Or just that light had died.
But even though the night
had crept up sombre with
its shroud of darkness and
promise of shady secrets,
I sat wrapt in rapture, lit
with joy, changed forever by
the touch of a beauty so
ephemeral, yet eternal.
~~~
Nice, picturesque poem.
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