There… framed by the setting sun,
Brushed by the painting strokes of light’s retreat,
An unremarkable House Finch sang his remarkably beautiful song.
His throat, unleashing his verse,
Simultaneously… a glorious, and longing note.
Calling for his lover.
Defining his will to exist.
And seeing that simple singing for love…
Made me think of you.
How can I sing, with similar desire…
Listen for my call.
Separate my song from all the other distractions.
The beat of my heart.
I am calling for you.
Answer my hunger, with your call.
Come to me.
© 2017 W. C. Stacia, Jr.