You hear it with the sunrise: the song of the first
Breaks into a shattering, discordant chorus.
One thousand notes in major, heralding the light,
With thousands more of minor, in goodbye to night.
It’s then that you can see it, when all colours hone,
And gone is silver-grey to a rich, green-gold tone.
The slanting morning light, soft with mist and dust motes
Is stillness in wild loudness, of contesting notes.
To rise in the finale and hear the last one singing,
Is to hear the echo of all awakening.