Skylark, artist unknown
I stopped for the sound,
thinking of the end of Keats's ode,
“To Autumn.”
The cars on the distant road
replaced the lamb's loud bleat,
and bicyclists went whirling by.
Then choruses
of trills and twitterings
filled the stadium of the air—
then faded away
as quickly as they came.
Two men on roller blades went by,
a siren wailed.
I heard the sound of wings
...and slowly it started up again—
a tweet, a chirp,
a long sentence in a language
that may have been lark.
“Bird Song, Cannon River Bottoms” by Joyce Sutphen from The Green House. © Salmon Poetry, 2017.
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