One afternoon I sat and watched a bird

as streams of song came bubbling from its beak;

I heard its singing rinsing through the wood

and wash the dust from every summer leaf.

It flew in a frenzy, bouncing along

from the fir to the beech - from the beech to the myrtle,

pausing only to scatter seeds of song

which if it had a human heart would say:

"I am burning with love… I am burning with love…";

yet though a bird its tiny heart still burns,

and so it called forever through the leaves,

until as evening fell it heard at last:

"Me too... Me too… I too am burning with love...";

blessings be upon you fine, loving little bird!

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