At once a voice arose among The bleak twigs overhead In a full-hearted evensong Of joy illimited; An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small, In blast-beruffled plume, Had chosen thus to fling his soul Upon the growing gloom.

Tribute.
(for the loneliest swallow)

heartfelt emotion once I'd hollowed
my soul like the songbird swallow
and thus in simple chirp he dost merit
a simple plea from my ghost inherent
"flay thy gaunt and glorious gloom
far from my brown feathered plume."
said the peacock to the soul collector,
"ha-squawk tawk, taunt sawk illector."


Happy National Poetry Month