Who, every other bird, I’m sure, must think a maniac...
While all her friends are sleeping ...heads nestled neath their wings
This bird rises early...and all she does...is sing.
She sings at the top of her lungs...before the sun’s first glow.
Does she know morning approaches? It’s dark...how can she know?
But she fills the night with music...my morning walk with grace
And tho I’ve never seen her...I imagine a smile on her face.
It’s such a lovely song she sings during the day/night interlude
And I admire her determination...her faith...her fortitude.
If I’m ever apprehensive...when it’s confidence I lack
I remember the bird who sings in the morning...when the sky is painted black.
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