The Bird is Still Singing

Crawling in bed, I hear a bird singing.
Unusual, I think, a bird singing so lovely,
so clearly, in the dark night sky.
Doesn't it realize that the time for birds
to sing is in the bright light of day?
But this bird continues to sing - not
allowing the darkness to stifle it's song.
Because this bird's song cannot be contained.

And I think of the song inside of me -
the song that I only sing when conditions are right
- when light is shining and those around me are receptive.
The song, that when darkness surrounds me, I keep inside of me
- afraid to allow my song to cut through the blackness of the night.
And I resolve to sing like this bird, to be unusual in the darkness.
I wake in the morning, the bird is still singing.