Gene James Gilbert

I think of you often
these early mornings,
the slow cool turning
of night into day,
as the dense green hedgerow
outside my bedroom window
comes alive with the chatter
of awakening sparrows.

You being where you are,
far from my touch,
far beyond this hedgerow
that is filled with the incessant chirping
of these small red-brown birds,
as I compose for you
this morning melody
as they sing
the song they breathe.