Joie de Vivre

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

We might forgive ourselves for thinking larks

Do not consider self at all.  Instead

They think of hen and chicks and send out arcs

Of music leaving little room in head

For other thoughts.  They have to eat, though, or

This beauty and devotion soon will end.

Larks dip to earth to feed small mouths, then soar

Again to make more melodies, to send

Out unheard compositions for their mates

And smaller birds.  Perhaps the notes are sent

Inside their waiting eggs and open gates

In shells before paternal songs are spent.

  We do not know, but what we know is this:

    The skylark, maybe mindless, showers bliss.