Dancing on Power Lines

The birds have more to teach us

The morning sun, like fire catching kindling,
burning up cold leaves and quiet lands.

The birds feed off of the warmth
and dance, twirl, twitch and hop
like the golden light meant new joy.

They sing because they can.
They sing because they must.
A riot of untamed life.

And we wake to it all.
Out of our slumber.
Out of our malaise. 
Cold, rigid, with no song.
Needing to be warmed
and wooed by the world again. 

Oh my soul, look at the birds.
Be free and wild like them.
Dance upon power lines.
Spin like you had no worries.
And sing, because you must.

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