DEATH OF THE SONGBIRD

Every day I pass by a little park
On the outside of town
On my way home from work 
I promised myself, that one day 
I must take a stroll around that park

On a beautiful sunset evening 
I pulled my car to the shoulder of the street 
And anxiously headed for my stroll 

As I casually strolled around the park 
Enjoying its beauty and quietness 
I was mesmerized by a bevy of swans 
Gliding on the lakes surface 
Like a fine tuned orchestra 

But with all their theatrics 
And effortless crafted dance 
My ear were caressed 
By the hypnotic tune of the songbird

From that day on my travels home 
Were interrupted by my visit and seat 
On that little wooden bench in the park 
To hear the songbird sing 

And as expected, the swans were dancing 
Their lives away as though there were no tomorrow 
The fading sunshine reflecting off their wings

On the morrow I retraced my steps 
Hoping to be entertained 
But there was a quiet hush 
As I sat on the bench 
And the swans in a circle on the lake

In the middle of them all
The songbird floats in silence 
He had preformed his last concert for us all
My spirit was crushed on that tearful day 
As my eyes witnessed the death 
Of the songbird in the park.

Wilford Barker.