Evening Song

The sun hangs onto a lost cloud

 like a child holding a balloon

The birds are heading home

To discuss their day with their kith and kin

They speak in their own tongues

I wonder if the smarter birds

Speak several languages

Dusk is flying low

The birdsong orchestra

Share the sound and space

Of tweets and chirps

If you have a good ear

You can tell who’s out of tune

And who are sopranos

The darkness brings the whispers

The sun closes the gate

Silence spreads its own wings.

©JMN 2023