Music Poetry 'n Prose Soundscapes

Small Bird: A Song of Innocence

The daylight has lingered on longer than expected, but now the gloom of the short April evening is settling down fast in the wood. The silent and motionless trees rise out of a mysterious shadow, which fills up the spaces between their trunks. Only above, where their delicate outer branches are shown against the dark sky, is there any separation between them?

Somewhere in the deep shadow of the underwood a blackbird calls “ching, ching” before he finally settles himself to roost. In the yew the small birds are already quiet, sheltered by the evergreen spray; they have also sought the ivy-grown trunks. “Twit, twit,” sounds high overhead as one or two belated little creatures, scarcely visible, pass quickly for the cover of the furze on the hill.

Then bird songs lifts me as notes fall from air. They seem to land in my hand. In that  moment, as already the interior of the wood is impenetrable to the glance, music comes alive. Gently chords, subtle rhythms and harmonies rises though the sound of closer birds who have restlessly moved in their roost-trees. Darkness is almost on them, as they settle in their song of innocence. The cawing and dawing rises to a pitch, and then declines; the wood is silent, and it is suddenly night.

Small Bird

You don’t make a song and dance, you simply sit.
I look at you and rest my eyes.
The world slows down, as you adorn
a winter branch with solitude.

You simply sit. A nod – a searching out.
The air around you stills:
particles suspended in mid air.
Tiny eyes, as black as coal.

Pin-prick sharp: driven
by a hunger on the wing.
Heading home to roost, you lay your head.
You sit in stillness, simply.

You are a gatherer.
Minute twigs and down, the fabric
that you weave,
inside this stubby bush outside my window.

How do you think.
Rain shrugger. Sunshine sucker.
Snow, a place to leave your mark
that you were there.

Careful choices. Not a word.
Each crumb considered first.
Kindly, you watch the worm slowly turn
and leave it be.

Feeding flesh to every mouth that begs.
Bones enough for you. You perch
and open-mouthed, a joyous explosion makes
every leaf vibrate.

*Small Bird poem shared with kind permission.

See WiseJourney for more unique poetry, photography and mindful writings.

By 67paintings

A dialectical site of poetry, painting and the odd musical excursion into the unknown.

16 replies on “Small Bird: A Song of Innocence”

You do me a great kindness Lee to combine my words with your words and beautiful music. Thank you. Andrea

It’s a lovely lovely poem. Today, I have two pieces of great beauty by Andrea and I’m unable to choose which touches me more. Thank you Lee for sharing this. I missed it on her site. My compliments to her for this one

Nature has much to teach us, we have to be willing to learn. Too full of ourselves, our human superiority, we miss on great lessons.

more soon…. Hope you are having a good weekend.

It’s you I have to thank. It was was great delving into the sounds of nature and your poem weaved beautifully into that experience. We both set out to capture something that was symbolic of Spring, something that made us feel more alive and more in tune with life itself. I feel we achieved that effortlessly and with fun. Thank you again.


Andrea had lifted the veil from my eyes with Small Bird. I loved the inflection of her words drawing attention to the honesty of nature. She has a gift,

Reblogged this on wisejourney and commented:
In the words of my fellow blogger @ 67painting……..We both set out to capture something that was symbolic of Spring, something that made us feel more alive and more in tune with life itself. I feel we achieved that effortlessly and with fun.

We did. I hope that you enjoy the words and the music too and I wish you a wonderful week.

Oh, yes, she does. A great gift – of gentleness, silence and honesty… of words too. The universe must smile at her every day. :)

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