December Prologue (2003) (For The Ever-Living Dodo) Poem by Kit Ludlow

If 'fashioned' is what you judge my verse to be,
One must critique the rhythmic chirps of birds,
But your argument would then suggest two scenes.
Nature sings for love. I write for the world.
Generations have made their nests, hatched eggs,
And attended to the young until first flight;
All the while, an art serves them through their days.
Instinct, then perfection, becomes their rite.
You have taken your injured feathered throat,
Forced out notes of passion too sad to hear.
Fallen youth rebels against the aloof,
And your twittering slang strives to adhere.
The forest will echo metrical song;
You'll sit low, singing with a formless lung.