Every day and every night
I hear a song and I write
A chorus of many
Bluebirds
Doves
Sparrows
And a single crow

Sleek her dark feathers
Shining under moon and sun
But always off key

The song I hear I study
Each word and line written
Each note recorded
By ink rose red

When will the crow leave I wonder
And when will the robin take her place?
When will I stop writing the song
All meaningless little strokes
And merely listen instead?

The day the crow leaves
The day the Robin comes
Should the day ever arrive
For then perhaps
The ink will run dry
And the quill shall break
Instead the sweet notes fill the air
Not the page

For ever verse I hear
I will finally hear the beauty

The day the crow leaves
The day the robin comes
The day winter dies
The day spring shall arise