The Lark's Song

The song that I sing
is the story I tell
of the trees and the flowers and sky.
The notes that I use
in the song that I sing
lift the wings that I use when I fly.

High up in the clouds
when I soar on the wind,
I sing of the glory of flight;
a ballad for streams,
for the rivers and hills,
for the stars and the moon in the night.

I sing of the forest,
of holly and oak,
of sorrel and Jack-by-the-Hedge.
I sing of perfection
in each blade of grass,
of the dew in damp fescue and sedge.

I sing of the fox
and the cat and the rat
that prowl by the bins in the town.
I sing of the owl
hunting voles in the fields
in a silence created by down.

I sing of the courtship
of moths in the dusk,
of dances in autumn and spring.
I sing of bold butterflies,
dragonflies, wasps,
of the bounty that honey bees bring.

And as I ascend
on a clear summer day,
down below I see nature unfurled.
The song that I sing
is the story I tell
of the beauty of life in our world.