Comes the morning, thrush will call,
from brambled hedge, or garden wall.
Sing he must, and sing he will,
though even to a silent hill.
And be there but echoes all along,
he will forget the day, but not his song.
Sing he must, and sing he will, though even to a silent hill. songs and echoes... very fine vision.. dear poet Stephen Howard.. thanku. tony
Thanks very much for your kind critique Chinedu Dike. Im grateful.
A poignant rendition written with clarity of thought and mind. Inspired by your style of writing.
Sing he must, and sing he will, songs and echoes.. a song that lingers in the soul even when the day is forgotten. very nice poem my dear Steve.. tony
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
forget the day, but not song, good one