Birdsong
The noisy birds squawk and squeal,
an out of sync chorus
bent on harmony
as discordant as a traffic jam.
In between the garbled avian speech
I hear a finch and a robin
announce, “It’s morning!”
In my very vague 4:30 a.m. brain
I succumb to the sounds
of Creation’s alarm clock
and I am up,
(in spirit only, the body to
follow)
rejoicing with them in this new day.
How kind of God to bring such
news with music on the wings of dawn,
a symphony of which I never tire.
