The Blackbird’s Song

From deep within the blackbirds’ breast
across language
our history was sung.

It began before dawn
loud and persistent.

Low notes spoke of terror
short ones warned and questioned.

A sharp, excited whistle.
Something better after all.

Then, across scales
rising, bursting, spilling, spreading.

Crystals of joy
to await the sun.

A song for those who’d forgotten
forgotten a hopeful day could come.

Told in the darkness
to better be heard.


One Response to “The Blackbird’s Song”

  1. Thank you New London Writers for posting this.
    I hope we can all carry hope as we travel in difficult times.

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