Detail from a painting by Rene Magritte

Why Do Birds Sing? The vast majority are in it for the money, though a significant number are also enamored with the fame. Some are heroin addicts. Many have been on tour so long they've forgotten the feeling of a warm nest and can no longer return home without stepping on the eggs. Sometimes it's for supper, a worm scrap discarded by the more finely feathered and brightly colored. Life in the coal mine is difficult and quickly turns yellow to gray. Often it's to distract heaven from the sins of the claw, to placate angry angels and be forgiven without asking for forgiveness. A few do it without thought, humming with the beauty of not knowing and sliding down the sky; the rest are those crushed under the weight of endless boredom, calling out into empty indigo nights. John Whitted

______________________________________________________________________ More Poetry by John Whitted, Featured Poet Back to the Astrophysicist's Tango Partner Speaks