-This poem reflects on the collective birdsong of spring morning as the world awakens through many small voices joining into one living music.
Before the sun has fully climbed,
the air begins to gather song,
one note, then two, then many more,
rising from hedge and branch and wire.
No single voice can hold the hour,
it takes a hundred bright returns,
a scatter of small living sounds,
to fill the fields with waking light.
The bare trees answer without words,
the grass receives what falls from above,
and every fence and roof and path,
seems touched by what the birds release.
This is how morning learns to bloom,
not first in petal, leaf, or stem,
but in the layered, singing proof,
that life is more than one voice alone.