Cerulean Warbler,
how'd you get your blue?
Weaving in and out of Woodland Scilla?
Singing along with Giotto's Christmas angels?
Brushing clouds to stratosphere?
Bless you, flying Azurite—
in your nesting,
hatching,
feeding,
preening.
Bless you, blue wonder,
in your thousand mile night flight,
traveling by star light—
may you circumvent
wind turbine,
cell tower,
eight lane,
and smoke stack.
Bless you, buzzy-noted songster,
Caribbean bound,
through early autumn air—
with a heart full of emotion,
Dorian is gone,
but is there a bird version of heartache?
Father Stephen Morris
