A hush descends at Twilight’s gate,
A butcherbird descends -
Dark wing, white crest ablaze in dusk,
To impart what Fate portends.
Her solemn notes convey a truth,
In song of common lore,
A friend has crossed beyond our view,
Life’s burdens now no more.
“Stand still!” the bird cries clear and bold,
“For sorrow is your guest;
Give me your words before they’re cold —
To bear at your behest.”
So I offer up a tender grief,
Sealed in silent prayer;
And the butcherbird flies heaven bound
To remit my message there.
One of the Two Hundred and Twenty Thousand
04/02/2025
