The whole garden resounds
with the silence of the rain.
Where have the blackbirds gone?
Tearful trees miss their song.
Crows look like thieves
and morning glory grieves.
They were birds in quest of Light.
They’ve been flying for a long time.
They’re dancing at the gates of Dawn.
But we have no reason to be sad.
To have dreams is to have wings:
now it’s our turn to sing.
© Frédéric Georges Martin