The Warbler’s Song

As summer sweetly burns the hours,
The morning’s dew will heal our pain.
Not oft the bee forgets the flowers,
Nor sun forgets to dry the rain.

Stilled by the echo of the ghost,
Chilled by the winds beneath our wing,
We have tomorrow at the most,
We have today to feel the sting.

Can you imagine moving past,
The hours that hover through the air?
Can you discern the trumpet’s blast,
That tolls the end to nature’s prayer?

With winter clawing at our backs,
The Guardian presses close at hand,
The mourning lark lets drop the axe,
The timid song turns from the land.

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Lonely Lullaby

As the stone skips o’er the water,
She believes her lover found.
Moving past the broken altar,
To the shelter underground.

How the leaves betray the motion,
How the song betrays the sound,
She has lost her one devotion,
To the shelter underground.

What the morning dew despises,
Where the mists have lain their crown,
Our dear daughter soon arises,
From the shelter underground.

Since the age of dreams found broken,
Since the dawn when he was drowned,
Slowly fall the tears unspoken,
To the shelter underground.

As the breeze skips o’er the water,
She deceives that he’ll be found.
He is lost to our dear daughter,
He is buried underground.