Skylark [sonnet]
O little bird! You are so frail and wan.
I caught your eye while waiting for the sun
to rise above the sea and burst upon
my withered soul. (The dance had just begun).
At last I understand your quirky flight —
the way you dart around in shadowed trees.
It’s clear you are a creature of the night;
your circumspection brings me to my knees.
Yet even though your wariness frustrates
(for never would I harm one precious wing)
my heart your siren song still captivates.
The day will come you’ll wear that missing ring.
If you would only settle in my tree
then soaring high and larksome I would be!
© 2011, Alan Morrison
The Naked Troubadour 