What are you contemplating?
Birdsong, how can they sing?
A song is no material thing.
You have to have a soul to sing,
A strong will and a pure desire
With nothing egotistical about it,
A repertoire of hard-won notes,
Some dissonant, some beautiful.
You have to be subject to fits
And starts and long passages
Of repetitive climbing to get
To that breathless triad
Where the soul is scattered
Sunlight on rippling leaves.
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