AUBADE

   The wind is from the west this morning and
   It blows, before the birds awake, the sound
   Of traffic on the Interstate over land
   And lakes, because no barriers can confound
   This noise we humans make in our pursuit
   Of industry and pelf, and not the wealth
   Of contemplating matters absolute:
   Our route to holy wholeness, our true health.
  
   But now, as the winds subside, the birds’ aubade
   Begins, their joyful tribute to the sun,
   The source of warmth and sustenance, their god,
   And will not cease till due oblation’s done.
        I take my lesson from these pious birds
        And fashion my own hymn in tuneful words.

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