painted bunting

Full-lipped and free the nightingale purls.
As sun reaches sky his reddish tail unfurls.

Perched in morning dew the robin swells with sound.
He flutters from the maple branch to bed in leafy brown.

At twilight hear the hummingbird's vibrations fluctuate.
The trill and tweedle twittered tune of busyness he makes.

A bird unnoticed hides behind a wooded screen.
Her intonation syncopates to blackest darkest green.

Quietly, cautiously, the painted bunting sings.
Hidden in the underbrush she births the song she brings.

"awake, my soul, awake."