Since Music Be the Brood of Love—Sing On

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

Romancing larks care not one whit for death.

Love, love and life are what they want.  Larks care

About that triumph, love.  They gulp in breath

And belt out other bursts of song.  They spare

No singing.  They go on.  They sing on, on

And yet again, swoop up to far, far bursts.

They do not wait for daybreak.  In the dawn

Of dawn they sing.  Confusing flaming bursts

Of melody, the sky believes its stars

Have been transfigured in the morning breeze,

The opposite of meteors.  No scars

Result from rising, singing galaxies.

  At sunset earth sends out inciting scales

    Of tuned devotion from her nightingales.

© Phillip Whidden