Early light, before
sun, and I hear an unknown bird
singing his morning syllables—
pitiful, pitiful, pitiful—in a voice
too plaintive to be believed.
Birds speak their native language—
music with feathers. We pick up clues,
but translation depends on our
willingness to hear, and listen.
I’ve let last night’s bad dream
misinterpret his message.
Maybe he’s telling me this new day is
beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.
~ A poem by Luci Shaw
“The birds are the saints, who fly to heaven on the wings of contemplation, who are so removed from the world that they have no business on earth. They do not labour, but by contemplation alone they already live in heaven.”
~ Saint Anthony of Padua
“My sweet little sisters, birds of the sky, you are bound to heaven, to God, your Creator. In every beat of your wings and every note of your songs, praise Him.”
~ Saint Francis of Assisi
Wishing you all a very beautiful day!