Dawn Chorus

Is it more of a song if it freely

Sings with the death of darkness

As the unrestrained Spring pours

Through the throats of these tiny birds?

 

Or are there deeper human notes

That ring with our Autumn griefs

And Winter silences, until

They alchemise into worship?

 

At one end of my guitar

There is a chest for hoarding

Golden chords, until they swell

With summer harmonies.

 

At the darkest heart of the world

There is a man, all wounds,

Who gives Himself to the uttermost

In the ultimate act of praise.

 

If it will make me fit

For some part in the chorus

Then let me, Lord, be an echo of

The ache in Your Spring song.