The time of singing birds is come
With a glimpse of the divine
And although you say the beauty is
Just mathematically proportionate
The breath still catches in my throat
Makes me pause; the universe shivers.
Every morning a small miracle
Resounds around the world
Like Carthusian nuns at dawn prayer,
The rhythmic glittering of song
Fills the trees and the garden walls,
And resonates in the dew-soaked air.
-- miss w