Birdsong Poem by Scott J. Shepard

This business of being candor went unbecoming
an honest agreement the bird's song now hard to sing.

If justice were a court room of morning cardinals
with each conviction a parsible to that elusive song

each note from the hanging trees, the utility poles
the purple skies, mid flight where those blaring sirens rose

what if honesty knocked on your doorstep for adjourn
not that those birds were now unpleasant, but so we once were.

We could brew coffee in the kitchen along the morning air
spare a prayer for one another, put a rest to warring stares.

And if there, some Godly heartsease that brings us peace
should it seek soon to be in this very time of need

Honest enough to allow the birds to sing again their song
then the magistrate be at ease and we may right our wrongs.