Umbra

The birds of the air are about me For I am the conjuring one; How they dip and hover and circle Through hyaline regions of sun.

One has a wing like a petal, One wears a feather of flame, Silk and snow is the breast of another With a word like a flute for a name.

How they sing ... in the morning, Tilting soft the light beat of their flight; How their passionate chorales give cadence Down the ample arcade of the night.

Yes, the songs of the air are about me Sweet ... clear ... but they sing Of the light of another morning In the deep of another Spring.