The Saga of Sage Eden of the Grotto, Once-Bird now, Man

From many fens and distant dells a steady growing chorus swells on frigid mounts and gloomy coves to ancient shades of fossil groves the company drinks long and deep like tea, secrets soak, brew, and steep each song-breath steams like morning dew in feathered cloaks of many hue garlanded in green petioles and moss beard middens hung by voles You know them well, and so do I Their ethereal flight through sky A whisper, breeze, or rushing gale, coats of feathers or coats of mail, yellow plumes or crowns gilded gold, Story-songs ring bright, dark, new, old

among bird songs, one stood alone, it bounced, bent, through walls of limestone, or should I say it stood in two, for it was a duet, long, true

it whistled, slowed, floated, rended, it rose, quick! cut, folded and mended,

hark! the grotto now is silent

no bill, nor claw, nor feathered wing noone can bring themsleves to sing, of the missing past, present, future king

the bard of the grotto, half of flame, his partner absent, and he to blame, feathers falling, his world a fragment, turned to man, and full of shame But in silence he still sings, a duet broken, an empty claim a quiet solo, one half of nothing, in the murk, he wanders and in the quiet, he wonders how far must he tread, to the right his wrongs, and raise a song from the dead

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