Runes • Art • Wood Thrush
Poem about art where a poet sings a poem to an endangered bird.

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	Wood Thrush My fragility has drawn me anest, To the sun held on your cinnamon wing, To pattern nature spotted on your breast, To drink the flutelike beauty as you sing. My being holds within a gift this noon, Listen as I sing this poem to you, In return for your remarkable tune, It is all I could ever hope to do. Your flutelike beauty I have known so long, That I thought to preserve as one our arts, Alas, my pen could never be so strong, And soon I will not find you in these parts. But now the end of the day is not long, And you can yet sing your sweetest of song.

Runes • Art • Wood ThrushPoem about art where a poet sings a poem to an endangered bird.