Mervyn Linford

Blackbirds at Dusk

The blackbirds sing their exequies at dusk
Where spring adjusts to drizzlings of rain
And earth exudes its melancholy musk.

This fluted lamentation is enough
To haunt the air as poignantly as pain
Where blackbirds sing their exequies at dusk.

The falling wind cannot produce a gust
Where music is the dampest of refrains
And earth exudes its melancholy musk.

Solemnity is something of a must
Where light has found its lyric on the wane
And blackbirds sing their exequies at dusk.

Between the mellow notes there comes a hush
Where listeners have nothing much to gain
And earth exudes its melancholy musk.

The moon through clouds has risen in a blush
To touch the starlit heavens with a stain
Where blackbirds sing their exequies at dusk
And earth exudes its melancholy musk.