SONGBIRD
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Sweet
songbird,
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You
must fly
-
Upward,
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High
into the sky.
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Stretch
your wings, your wings of youth,
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And
sing your songs of freedom.
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Let
all see your beauty,
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Yours
to share.
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What
a fool,
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To
think that I,
-
The
traveller of days,
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Should
hold you from what is yours.
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Fly
sweet songbird,
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Fly
ever onward
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Across
the seasons,
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Over
the seas of time
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To
the shores of expectation;
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Past
the mountains of dreams
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Through
the valleys of experience.
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Fly
sweet songbird,
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Fly
ever onward,
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And
when, sweet thing,
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When
your wings are tired,
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Weighed
down by time
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And
grown heavy with the burdens of life,
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Then
rest my beloved,
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Rest.
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For
I, like the aged Oak,
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Shall
stand and await your return
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As
the summer awaits the sun.
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I
cannot turn the seasons of life
-
That
have turned before time,
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As
I cannot stop your flight,
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Your
flight of life.
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Fly
my dearest, fly,
-
Fly
ever onward, and I shall wait;
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For
like the migrant swallow,
-
You
know when all is done.
-
And
I who loves you so,
-
Will
be here,
-
The
aged Oak in whose branches you may sleep
-
And
rest your weary wings in safety and in peace
-
And
sing to me of all gone past.
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Until
then, my beloved songbird,
-
Until
then,
-
Farewell,
-
Farewell.
©
Austin Edward (Ferd)Orchard
EMAIL
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FORBIDDEN
-
Brown
eyed,
-
Dark
haired,
-
Fair
skinned,
-
Smile
that catches the sun.
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Warm
and sweet,
-
Coy.
-
Aware
of her own innocence,
-
Sure
of her own effect.
-
Oval
face,
-
Graceful
frame,
-
Youthful
posture held like a woman,
-
Carried
by a child;
-
Alive,
-
Assured
of its own strength,
-
Confident
in its femininity.
-
Proud,
-
Enticing,
-
Alas,
forbidden.
-
HOME
-
I've
got my little house
-
Albeit
rented,
-
It's
warm - it could be warmer.
-
I've
got a telephone
-
With
my loved ones
-
Down
the other end.
-
I've
got a smashing chappie
-
My
son that is,
-
Who
sometimes makes me cross
-
But
most of all he makes
-
Me
smile.
-
There's
food in the cupboard,
-
A
bit of this - a bit of that,
-
And
tea in the caddy
-
(a
nice mix of Assam and Earl Grey).
-
There's
a couple of spuds
-
In
the basket,
-
Six
eggs in the fridge,
-
Cool,
egg and chips for tea.
-
Then
there's my bed - (just me at the moment)
-
But
that's okay,
-
And
my burner throwing
-
Shadow
shapes upon the wall,
-
Oh
yes and a nice little number,
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No
real hassle, no one to wait for
-
Only
dreams of better days.
-
So
okay life's a bit difficult
-
And
seems such a mess,
-
But
the sun will shine
-
If
not tomorrow,
-
Some
other day.
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