As with my ear, to your voice,
Already listening, already willing for.
Not just now, not just then,
The bird by the window, was that a wren?
Would it call it’s home my sill?
Will it come back when?

It’s in that tree and very still,
Looking back in the room I host.
Comprised like a cork in a bottle,
Waiting for the time to age,
Is it this year, is it next year?

Now, silent in the room, but the tick of the clock,
Forget about the time, I’ll have all, and even more.
Even the shadow on the mantle from that tree,
Tells me it’s getting late, it’s only to be night.

I started this day, just as bleak,
Woke up late with that screech.
What was that, startled, I lost my speech?
Slept in the clothes I wore last night,
Passed the morning, even the noon and all,
This evening would be my wake up call.

Two thoughts I have running in my mind,
Would I partake more wine, while I dine.
And when this evening ends soon,
Will I see that shinny moon.

Yes, now I see the moon, in a full sphere,
Whether it shines bright within the clouds,
It’s still there.
Yes, I’ll have another glass of wine,
Full glass, full moon, I incline.

Walking off my back steps,
To find my little patch of clearing.
Careful within my steps,
No lights will shine from my home.
I do have my bearings,
It will just be I alone.

I see no other light, not even near,
As if the trees just block them so.
And I will find it quite peaceful there,
And other noises, it will block them so.

For the one I lost, miss and gave,
It’s a time of solitude I do crave.
From time to time, now it’s my choice,
And I, with my ear, waiting for your voice.

©2007, Ron Globe