Operatic Revelation

The skylark never has desired to hide

Himself in blue or in the realm of white

And blue.  He simply rises like a bride

To consummation.  It is at its height

The songster disappears to eyes that seek

Him, longing for the speck to show again

How tininess of form, of wing, of beak

Can send from heaven down to chicks and hen

An aria, bel canto love, unseen

But not attempting camouflage.  The flow

Of melody is more like Egypt’s Queen

Approaching Antony with love aglow.

  Not one spare whit of hiddenness is here.

   The fullness of the hope of love we hear.