Fled is that Birdsong (Third version)

There are some

who get excited

when they hear

a bird on a bough

in the evening,

singing a song

dinosaur cousins

did a dance to,

composed aeons

of aeons before

wild men in skins

caught the bug

and passed it on

down the line.

 
They are people
who remind me
of someone who
pores over
a lump of coal
like it's a history

of time;

or someone who

patiently pores

over the fabric
of an unfinished
poem,tailoring it
over and over,
to make it mean
what is meant

by the rush
of anguish
on hearing
a birdsong.

.

Reviews

[Eilis]

I don’t think I had read this third version of your poem, Gerald. I love the way you explore curiosity here and how another’s curiosity can create curiosity and inspiration in us.

Really just wanted to stop by and say hello. I noticed you haven’t been here for awhile and was just wondering how you are. Hope you and your wife are doing well. Take care.