Song Bird

So far across the glist'ning breeze
the singing bird doth call me home-
the gentle melody of flight
from red throat whispered 'mongst the clouds.
Those wondrous couds that sneer at men
majestic whites that float above
the struggles of our land-bound race,
grand clouds which dance through heavens high.
From these her song does dance and call
as feathers slice the upraised rain.
She lures me so to join her flight
enticing with sweet altitude
and promises of gleeful grace,
of which I've only dreamt at night.
Yet now no song allures me thus;
the clouds have turned a fearful mute.
"O Thrush," I cry "What's happened here?
What dims this graceful call, a fear?
Do white clouds darken round your beak
that no more unbound flight you seek?"
But lo, no song did answer cries
when whispered into silent damp.
Dim fog delayed a prolonged quest;
And ever lost was carefree dance.
Alas that good must come to end
Just when we start to fall in love.