Lonely Heart,

floating high

in the sterling pure

of a sunlit, blue sky

where the whirling blackbirds

cavort in celebration

on the twirling wings

of acrobatic ecstacy,

the autumn jubilation,

their summer’s abundance

confirmed in new fledglings

bonded to flock,

joyfully, joyfully they fly

above the round, plump-grain

red fields of sorghum grain,

the milo in wait of harvest,

above the golden shining

brown-eyed yellow sunflowers,

summer’s last glow in road ditches,

the season’s apex affirmed

over and over in bird dance.

Lonely heart,

where is your dance

in all this exaltation?

Ah, you feel the end

of freely given October warmth

sinking down to bleak November,

and beyond the coming solstice,

season of death

when the leaves

shrink to crisp brown,

and even the blackbirds shudder

against the cold or migrate,

while you are genuinely alone,

no love to warm your dwelling,

even the holidays expressions

of the shrinking of that apex.

Lonely heart,

sink not to that deep well,

that all is final,

but choose to bask

in the purity of grace,

for even blackbirds come again

to tend the eggs and nestlings,

the revolving of the seasons,

confirming life over and over,

imbedding it within your soul,

soar high,

a blackbird in your spirit,

set free of loneliness,

by affirmation of wisdom

through your long life

that every season brings

new joys forever and ever again,

all ending bringing beginning.

Copyright 2009, Jerry W. Engler