Sunday Blessings

If the birds do not come

I, whose wings are cleft

And whose gentle talons

Hold you fast to my breast

And from whose throat comes only

The coarse, grey, and grating cry

Of extremity - where no music is -

I, if the birds do not come,

Will sing to you...

If the birds do not come,

Will you who are Spring and

Flight and all Music,

Will you sing to me,

if the birds do not come?

 

 

R. L. Browne