I never see the birds angry
They sing on the branches of trees
They come down on the fields
To eat the little food they need
They don’t hoard in the storehouses
They are the most content
of the creatures on the earth.
They never rob others
To be richer than others.
To possess more wealth to show off
They don’t need weapons
To protect their possessions
My poems are birds
Flying over hills and plains
Glad to sing in contentment.
Yet, I have seen them angry sometimes
Only when a predator prowls near
The singing angels then
Raise their voices to shrillness
They might even use their
Beaks and claws on the robber
My sweet birds, the angelic voices
That’s the only time they look angry!
Xavier Bage
Tues, Nov 14, 2017
5.07 AM
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