A Year of Poems – Day 122

There are few things I hold with certainty,
so close they could hear the beat of my heart.
The same thing’s in me that got to the birds
who run away from even the gardeners.
Though we all have heard the sound of their song
the rhythm of their heart is known to few.

But if you listen to their rising notes,
counting the quick beat between their phrases,
you might discern a rhythm which will abide
even after the bird has flown the nest.
This is why I listen to the bird songs
woven in the words of the human voice –
nestled in the beauty is a beating heart.

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