Tuesday, June 19, 2018

Out like a light

Last night at nine-thirty the birds were still singing.
By four-thirty this morning they were at it again.
Who was last? Who was first? Do they know?
Does it change from one night to the next?
Does it mean anything to them?
Or do they simply go out like lights?
And rise in the morning to relieve the stars?

And what of the man who is miserable and important, who is miserable because of his importance, and important in his mind because of his misery, which he wears like armor and is afraid to remove? Does he not also go out like a light? And make way for a sweet child to rush in?


Stream Source said...

I don't know.

And I also don't know how your web page files disappeared. Given the backup systems of today, nothing is ever gone just temporarily out of view. Like the birds and the stars and misery.

William Michaelian said...

I do have a complete backup of the site. But clearly there’s technical trouble about and a new approach will have to be taken. My specialty.

I don’t know either. Isn’t it grand?

Stream Source said...

A blog publishes all... and it talks back.

Jonathan Chant said...

Sounds like a two pipe problem to me, a most vexing case.

Grand poem, William. Happy solstice!

William Michaelian said...

Thanks, Jonathan! Imagine — summer already. See you in Baker Street.