A baby blackbird puffs up,
As he lands within the lawn.
I look from out the window
And wonder for a minute;
Will these little birds in the garden,
Survive the cold winter.
I sit, elderberry pips in teeth
And purple stained fingers,
Watching the early Autumn winds,
Dance gaily through,
Those sleepy Summer trees.
And all around there is a journey beginning,
A transition, through time and through space;
But I'm lost, on the wrong track,
Keeping the wrong pace in the wrong place,
And I don't know if I will ever find my way back.
I shall keep walking into the Winter's light,
And keep that baby blackbird in mind,
For he is either food for thought,
Or in the distant sweet Spring's
Sweet spring-song I shall find.
Will he hear me there,
Among the fresh grass-shoots too?
I doubt it so, for hungry I shall be,
In the shadows and trees
As I am used to,
And always shall forever be.
Yet in this early Autumn wind,
I can hear the call
Of a home I do not know,
I hear this call
And like a dog to his master, I just want to...
I can't find my way back,
If I can't ever remember leaving,
I'm just that little baby blackbird,
Out in the Winter's snow, freezing