Small Bird

Little brown bird
I don't know your name.
Perhaps sparrow,
Or thrush, furtive in
Reeds, the bushes and trees
Along the water's shore.

High you perch
On solitary branches with
Bark that is newly greened
Bright yellow and crimson stems
In spring's first blush.

I hear your joyful
Song
Poured out from your
Tiny heart,
Liquid beauty, trilling,
Melodic,
Amazingly loud,
Until you dismiss
Your audience and
Take flight to other heights,
Gift to the next
Weary soul.