Small fowls make melody
Emitting their ravishing commands
A hillbilly Get off my land
Or a cavalier Come hither love to me

The wingèd multitude
The mockingbirds the cardinals the bobolinks the Kentucky warblers
That thrush that in America we call a robin
And all the anonymous throng

They do not intend to propagate beauty
Any more than the sunset
The lapping wave
The pastoral flower

Each species its unique apparatus
Even that of sublime mockery
Immense vibration
From each diminutive frame

The ephemeral song eternal
We call it song
It takes a reasoning brain
To appreciate