“Birds in the trees”

High in the lattice of emerald leaves,  
Amid the sway of summer’s breeze,  
A congress gathers, wing to wing—  
The birds in the trees begin to sing.

First, a robin’s ruby chest aglow,  
Carols from a branch below,  
While jays with feathers blue as sky  
Call and chatter, dart and fly.

Tiny wrens, with wisps for tails,  
Draw secret maps through mossy veils,  
And morning doves in gentle pairs  
Whisper love through forest airs.

Goldfinches flit on swinging stems  
Spilling sunlight from their hems,  
While blackbirds write with liquid sound  
A song that spills on fertile ground.

Each note a bead on threads of green,  
Each trill a spark for worlds unseen—  
Above, below, and in between  
Are stories told and hearts made clean.

So listen well, these living lyres,  
Nestled high on leafy spires—  
For music born among the trees  
Is solace, hope, and gentle ease.

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