In the verdant hills, amidst trees of lime,
A blackbird he sits, perched singing his song.
Unaware of place, oblivious of time
And without a care — just whistling along.
His tune is fresh, his music — brave and new,
His score is one that knows no pain.
Like warm rays of sun in a sky clear and blue,
Unhindered by clouds — not a chance of rain.
Sing songbird, sing! Your heart be content.
These vales — may they echo your tune divine.
That I may too — as I listen intent —
Capture your magic in this heart of mine.