A SOUND FROM THE MAHOGANY

Perched on a tree it laughed at me

And I could swear of that sound from the mahogany.

As it sat there on that log of wood

A song sweeter could not be heard of what I understood.

Like a living legend it unfolds

Greater things could not but be told.

To sing like that it takes practice

Willpower that succeeds.

And in this idea of life

I search for the sun holding the fight.

There came upon me an inward thought

A simple prayer and the Big Fight.

And there came upon me a choice

To the characteristics of the bird,

A certain amount of hope.A certain amount of noise.

Wish I could be the like the bird in union

Flying like the morning minion.

Up,Up and away to reach another world

The good sun at last folds.

It was time to ungather food and reach

A time useless but for playing hide and seek.

And what could not but be more convenient,

The bird taking steps resilient.

Then the treasure that the tree provides

Lots of fruits and written upon them your name besides.

The bird unique in its own nature was playing a game.

How could it be so clever?

To oppose the mighty sun would it be vain?

Maybe the keeper of the bird is the sky

Which keeps a clean chit on their little disguise.

If the bird returns home with nothing,

One or two worm put beneath the wing.

For things have certain kind of purposes

When the last hour of desk approaches.

And it is time to return to the nest,

A sound sleep the silence wasting away in jest.

And the same Mahogany would breathe the same air,

As the bird to the sun bids a farewell.

Ah!Could I hear but a similar sound?

From the Mahogany on an inward journey bound?

It takes my heart away in a melancholy tune,

A Sound from the Mahogany I assume!