As feathered friend didst fall from chosen bough
In crumpled heap; no more to trill sweet sound
I wondered of a world ‘neath Farmer’s plough
With life bereft of song (still’d underground)
No more “t-wit, t-woo” twill fill the night
No more dawn chorus greets attentive ears
No more doth lift my spirits and delight
Perchance did hear lament (when spill’d my tears)
Above, the sky’s now painted deeper blue
No clouds in talons caught (as once espied)
No wings to waft away its saddest hue
A place where silence reigns; I now reside
Where e’er thou art; I Pray contentment bring
By finding other worlds in which to sing