And her Yellow Music caught in the Throat of Birds
I waited a minute on the wind
on your roof, outside.
She had been awaiting me in the middle of the day
having come warm over those seas to find me,
High over the little streams and the lakes
and she playing,
and she jumping,
crying and talking in my ear.
She had carried her warm music over those streams
and over the frail blue flowers that grow on the lakeside.
And you were sleeping soundly.
I left you, I left the city for a little time.
I left the noise of the city, to wait on
the little breeze to bring me news.
And her yellow music caught in the throat of birds,
agus a ceol buí a thógail i scornach na h’éanaithe.
© C Murray
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