On my knees

where from my window

I could barely see

him sitting sweetly

in the thick-leafed tree

I know for certain, he freely

sang his repertoire for me

For somehow he seemed to know

that I would cherish each song

in the way he chirped it, Β just so

and could remain there very still

all the day, even ’til the sun sunk low

as he took me back to childhood mornings

where the gentle music would wake my soul

So sing, my sweet friend; sing and sing and sing

for I will surely listen, to every beautiful song you know

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