The Lark Poem by kendall thomas
The Lark
The lark sings
in the willow tree
where the river runs.
Sweetly in tune
(for him nature provides)
so much more than I
this little thing.
Where does he perch in the evening
so silent then,
hiding from those who would
cut short his song?
Is it then
a song he sings
or, for me, a futile cry?
So silent becomes the willow tree
when, like a phantom,
the lark is gone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/26/2024 12:23:18 AM # 1.0.0.1119
