Bird Watcher

There must have been
Some sunny days,
In golden meadow fair;
When free from crowds
And free from toil,
You sought the purer air.
And as you strolled
The verdant paths,
The wee birds met you there.

Did not they sing
At your approach
Their fanfare, clear and sweet?
Did not they peer
From wayside nests
To note your passing feet?
Or else display
Above your head
Some agile, aerial treat.

Oh, villager,
Oh, carpenter,
Oh, rabbi to the meek.
‘Twas you who reached
From Unseen Halls
To form each wing and beak.
‘Twas you ordained
The feathered friends
So delicate and weak.

Then from the fields
And azure skies,
You passed to City’s din.
To show to powers
Their shallow hope,
Perhaps, their souls to win.
In temple halls
Where Paschal doves
Were slaughtered for men’s sin.


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