twiddling thumbs and tweeting songbirds
make parting a bitter shot
for there was comfort in the silence
and movement in the air
that numbed all the thoughts I fought.
Then this inner strength rose again
and the misted dew beads drop
down my jaw in hopeful hymns
that soothes the sane
and challenge all I’ve thought
Because when the myth of songbirds
breed an empty tune,
all that I’ve loved begs to
be back soon.