The shivering of the silvery leaves on the age old poplar tree,
Not tall and tapering like a Lombardy but
Generously spread, huge like a monolith,
Rustling peacefully, gently, with the rhythm of the wind.
Sounds of a rainmaker or of soft bamboo chimes.
A natural “high rise” for scampering grey squirrels
Leaping branch to branch like rainforest monkeys.
A look-out post for our garden birds,
Like springtime decorations on the supple branches of a Christmas tree.
The princely blackbird swaying on his precarious throne,
Shiny-feathered soloist singing songs of joy.
The pair of puffed up pigeons preening themselves on high,
The ring-necked doves contentedly cooing,
Rosy-breasted robins resonating their territorial tunes.
The melodious music of nature passed down from generation to generation.
No composer needed, no scores, no choir practice, no concert hall but
Born musicians to delight those who take time to listen,
Trills and tremolos, staccato, legato, syncopation, triple forte,
Incredible sonority that makes me smile.