Birdsong

Birds begin their calls to praise. 
And they are right. We stop and listen. 
(We, behind masks and in costumes!)
What are they saying? A little report, 

a little sorrow and a lot of promise
that chips away at the half-locked future. 
And in between we can hear the silence
they break - now healing to our ears.

- Rilke, Uncollected Poems 
(Joanna Macy & Anita Barrows translation)