The Language of Birds
Whistling, warbling everywhere ―
you think they sing their songs for love;
but I have learned the language of birds,
know they are wise,
and sing their time will come.
Owls watching, waiting
own the night.
Hawks soar in silent judgment,
their keen eyes looking down
upon us.
And crows wear black,
congregate in the synagogue of trees,
pray to the one God
for the coming of the Messiah.
They too know
the time will come
when pigeons rummage
empty city streets,
air filled with wild flutter of starlings
in giddy celebration,
for the sky is theirs
again.
