Desire

by Rachel A. Gold

Now its silver eyes are dark,
In them there's not left a spark,
Was there when it became my mark,

Silver plumage dark so fleet,
Gone its silver song so sweet,
Lifeless lies it at my feet.

Now I turn away in scorn,
Facing now the brightening morn,
And go the cowherd's horn,

Thrills me homeward, gives me cheer,
Suddenly falls on my ear,
A sound that I have come to fear!

Over yonder, o'er the plain,
Through the lessening mist and rain,
The silver bird, it flies again!