Love sits perched upon my window like a lark

cross-breeze with the door adjacent, ajar.

Hark! Oh Lady, mother dressed in blue

feathers, wings parted, through a rectangular forest a familiar hue.

Experienced linguistics form promises of time afar;

within reach for the young, the hopeful and the sick, too.

The crazy, fools for belonging and connection, pray

to belong, to feel human, for spiritual resurrection.

Oh Lady, mother changed to red, from gold

what you have said, what you have done,

what you have read, making me the man I’ve become

Sold to you my little bird, little wing, soul of old.

If you must fly away today, or in the morrow

I will not dismay or long for pain and sorrow.

Do what you must and I will wait for your call 

at the window, sing my song into the far, Oh

Lady, woman in black, shed not one tear

for I do not fear the end.

Drop me a feather, a pedal too, or

Send me a letter or necklace of metal

from the silver lining in the sky and

I will settle for you.