Outside my window in the bush
Sweetly sang the little bird
Today and many days in past
The heavenly song I’ve heard
In wee moments before sunrise
That awakes the godly and wise
She has sung to me oftentimes
The little angel with heavenly voice
Her song has accompanied
My many lone morning
praises
When my soul in silent words
Its joys and pains raises
The offering of the dewy flowers
Brought down heaven’s showers
The little singer stood behind me
With folded wings in devotion
This morning she complained
You never write a poem on me
Am I too small a creature, she said
For your poetic eyes to see
You have written songs pleasing
On insects hidden in grass unceasing
Finding beauty even in cursed crawlers
How can’t you appreciate singers like me?
I did hear your hymn, little angel
The song that gave my soul joy divine
Wishing I had your pure spirit and
Praying for your devoted heart to be mine
But me a sinful flesh living among sinners
With a limping language that often falters
Oppressed by depressing limitations
Failed I have, to lift my pen up to write
Xavier Bage
Wed, 6 Jan, 2016
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