An Ode to a Grosbeak

A Rose-breasted Grosbeak, parting dirge, to speak,

Crooning a begging song that is hers.

Hoping to discover, a lifetime lover,

Her presence, she carefully obscures.

Lilting from the trees, the softest melody

A song for her, only she can hear.

The notes he composed complement her repose

As she looks past the stars, she, the seer.

Sensing the rustle, imagines the bustle

Of goldfinch, crows, sparrows, chickadee,

Feigning competing, normally retreating,

Cowards flapping, complaining, loudly.

Each bird is squawking, alternately talking

And yelling, each pretending to sing.

In distance is heard, pleasantly, single bird,

With a twenty-note song, yodeling.

Ending her vision, enters woods Elysian,

Searching for the seducer, so sweet.

Following each note, a love song deftly wrote,

To entice her to intimate fête.

Enters the clearing, the tune she still hearing,

Three enchantresses dance to the chants.

Joining the witches, prancing fever pitches,

She collapses spent, expelling pants.

Her heart on the breeze, she denies yet foresees,

A future and verve safe in the nest.

A life on the wing, beautiful songs to sing,

A life filled with love, laughter, and zest.

Her body is lighter, the stars shine brighter,

As she sheds weights of mortality.

Her self levitates, her spirit elevates,

Her voice resonates with gaiety.

No longer confined by shackles of mankind,

She sings to him the joy they will know.

“From the flimsiest cup, our fledglings will erupt,

From speckled eggs, with love, without throe.”

“Our children will thrive, we will never deprive,

Yet, one day they sadly leave on wing.

But what you should know is that I love you so,

And together, each night, we will sing.”