Dusk Chorus

There will come a moment

when the birds stop singing.

But for now they are louder

triller as though begging the sun

to keep shining. While there is light,

they can keep catching worms,

but when dusk turns to night,

something dies.

Their songs now are like scattered

gems, they’ve lost the tightness of morning

chorus; as though excitement has dissolved

into panic.  And when all light is finally

taken, the silence from the treetops

is a haunting realisation of losing the thing

that gave life meaning.

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