Half past midnight in the moonlit forest, a cuckoo tried out the screech owl’s call. This morning, just a red-eyed vireo repeating himself.
3 Comments
Comments are closed.
Previous Post: Previous Post
Next Post: Next Post
Half past midnight in the moonlit forest, a cuckoo tried out the screech owl’s call. This morning, just a red-eyed vireo repeating himself.
Comments are closed.
Permalink
Half past midnight, neighbor’s dog. This morning spotted towhee inviting all to “come drink your tea”.
Permalink
A GAME OF VOICES
A game of voices, Father called it:
“It was his voice, he needed me,”
the weeping widow murmured.
Was it her pained longing echoed?
A cuckoo’s strained screech fills
the darkened corridors of elms,
mimicking a midnight owl’s. It is
an old call not unlike his old voice.
Was it his caress reaching out for her?
On moonlit nights like this, he would
sing to her a tremulous “Mexicali Rose”,
“I’ll come back to you some sunny day.”
The days have come and gone, but his
promise remains: an echo in the night.
—Albert B. Casuga
07-11-11
Permalink
Also posted in:
http://albertbcasuga.blogspot.com/2011/07/game-of-voices.html