Cuckoo Cuckoo

My muses are in nature's hands

to tempt my mind to sing

with nightingales and forest bands

of wolves and owls and wings

that flap in leaves of trees

that waving back can echoes make

to groom my pate to learn of other things

those quiet arias in my mind so deeply buried there

and give them heart to do their art

and fly into the air

Yes muses, you all nature hear

I praise your every whim

I listen to your whisperings

and pen them like a twin

there placed the words they sing to me

from every bough inside

my soul of souls is thus set free

and through art's forests glide

Oh cuckoo you do call to me

come here, come there, no there

I dash about to find him so

but never find him where

I once did see him chattering

while on the bough one Whit

his voice no longer nyattering

perhaps he showed his wit

Else he through wooded landscape roams

a lone soul on the wing

find innocent sweet warblers

to lay his eggs right in

an egoist one could then say

but he's no choice, he's made that way

how otherwise can he be spread

for without him cuckooing is dead

they call from over there to here

and make the sound of lusty cheer

we copy him in music fine

and smile but never shed a tear

oh cuckoo love wilt thou be mine

on this the fouteenth day

of February in the Spring

'tis Valentine his way

to help sweet lovers sway.