It seems wrong that out of this bird, <br />Black, bold, a suggestion of dark <br />Places about it, there yet should come <br />Such rich music, as though the notes' <br />Ore were changed to a rare metal <br />At one touch of that bright bill. <br /> <br />You have heard it often, alone at your desk <br />In a green April, your mind drawn <br />Away from its work by sweet disturbance <br />Of the mild evening outside your room. <br /> <br />A slow singer, but loading each phrase <br />With history's overtones, love, joy <br />And grief learned by his dark tribe <br />In other orchards and passed on <br />Instinctively as they are now, <br />But fresh always with new tears. <br /> <br /> <br />Submitted by Andrew Mayers<br /><br />Ronald Stuart Thomas<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-blackbird-singing/
