Where Songs Once Sang In The Heat Of Summer Poem by Mark Heathcote

How diverse each heart, each songstress warbler
nothing remains, ice-covered forever
even deserts once had running water
ocean birds rose, floated on-a-zephyr
do we perceive the melodies of nature?
Those that are folklores within folklores
they hide many a-tantalizing-dangers
but others are raging like wild snowstorms.

That bares their claws and takes their pound of flesh
where-songs-once-sang in heat of summer
have transcended into the bleakest winter;
it's here a man's heart is frozen by-a-sorceress.
Fairytale elephants do ballet
all things combine to lie or tell the truth,
but what is the truth, what is a lie today,
may well be the truth tomorrow-uncouth.

Beauty remains in the beholder's eye
nightingales whatever nest us feather
each heart dies-a-death, at its epicentre
yes, we are sure to one day sadly fly.
But let's hope, it's a distant far-off day
that, that today's as far from returning
as any chance of seeing - yesterday
with yesteryear with today, merging.