Starling Sermon

A tree across the lake is crowned with spring,
but early March can never boast of buds
or leaves as thick as these. They are starlings.
The naked tree has put on feather duds.

A thousand raucous birds in black array
Of noisy splendor so uproarious
that when they flit in phalanx, silence says
You’d better see. A moment glorious
of mini murmuration as the mass
of living leaves is lifted and resat.

The lake between us sees no shine. She has
a helping stillness, mute in snow-gray hat.
My tingling ears, from cold and awe beheld,
Receive the morning missive, sorrows quelled.

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You can listen to me read it here https://on.soundcloud.com/zdyD3LN5LF7rzUDlpW