Moods Poem by James McLain

I am never at rest or so still.
The rain always falling,
When changing into,
and too tired for singing, it's true.

No, 'Oh, yes, lush green are the meadows,
the babbling brooks.
be the fields pulled forth and calling,
Oh, no be it not for me, the rich brown earth!

Am I to be the humming bird, unseen?
The red winged black bird head hung down, pining?
Never too leave the nest and fly back at night,
to meet the dew filled morn.

Yes to the fresh clouds that smile at dawn.
Oh and yes, be fresh and clean and smiling,
Oh and be for me as the clear blue sky!