On fragile wings the skylark soars
up to the heights form whence he pours
his early morning orison.
He greets this day and every day
as if his duty is to pay
his respects to the risen sun.
This feathered songster fills the sky
with liquid flowing melody.
To the delight of everyone.
Who has the wit to listen to
the skylarks song forever new.
Before the fleeting chance is gone.
I choose to rise from my warm bed
to tread the dew wet grass instead.
To hear his morning orison.
While slug a beds still sleeping lie
deaf to the glorious harmony
of sky larks singing to the sun.
24-Feb-08
Ivor this is another very beautiful poem and why not considering the lovely lady to whom it is dedicated. Both are beauties.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Now I like the idea of Mary's about being beauties - in the eye of the beholder I believe - but I do love the poem and about a skylark which is superb. Lovely, Lovely, Lovely. Can hear it now, singing from its soul. Wonderful. Love and hugs Ernestine XXX