I hear a bird sing it's song,
a silvery tone, so perfect, I listen all day long.
Evening brings another sound,
it rises up from hushed ground.
Feint whispers of feet, then psalms and prayer,
pressed, raised hands, brush the night air.
Children, men and women too,
move in shaded shadow and as they do,
melting moments, ring out, a symbol to one and all,
encircle the heart, then, the bird sings out it's perfect call.
Tushie 9/8/12.
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