Moon Thru Branches

Photo by Gamaliel Masters


Oh bird of love,
"kill-dee, kill-dee"
you sing beyond my night dulled pane,
far out in night hushed meadow grass,
"kill-dee, kill-dee, kill-dee".

Oh foolish bird,
call down the slivered
April moon, if call her down
you can.

My bird of love, I heard you sing
upon a distant lonely night
"kill-dee, kill-dee, kill-dee"
your piping piped an orange moon
full in October's sky.
My love held tightly to my hand,
hushed quick my question of your name
"kill-dee, kill-dee, kill-dee"
you sang,
"Your love will go away".

And he is gone,
but you, my silly, singing bird
still pipe your lover's heart

   Irene Dodge
Sept. 1983

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