Black
I see black cockatoos flying In the meadows of the Farm, And I wonder, what brings them here, In this dismal city’s charm They are spirits of the wild, Unlike their brothers white, Then why come to these thoroughfares Awash with neon light Have you’ll too, like many of us Lost your way somewhere (I hope at least you’ll return I make a silent prayer) I stare at one, that has come this close We speak, without a word, I am bequeathed with golden wisdom That comes from a silent bird The way is not for us to lose For aren’t we here to roam? The roving soul, let him be proud That he has no anchored home We pick up wisdom as we walk The only way to learn, And on the way, to pick some cuts And bleed, and bruise, and burn But on that journey, there will come Forests of endless green, In between, these cities too Some known and some unseen It is the song of every sail, To go ...
