Andrew Charette

In a park whither an elderly man once went
was a bird with a voice so wonderful much money would he have spent
just to hear that melodic bird sing
and listen to its voice, with that majestic ring.

But as the seasons passed, so did the bird's voice,
and the man stopped going, though not by choice,
for his health was beginning to fade
and the bird began to wither too, but he could get no aid.

With no audience for which to sing,
a sad death was all fate would bring.
So it was that the bird passed away,
of all times that spring in late May.

In the summer that man did return,
but of the bird's death never did he learn.
So he listened to all of the birds that came,
but somehow it just never felt the same.