Songbird of unknown rhapsodies,
Genius up high of the highest degrees,
Calling to your mates in yonder fields,
To the tune of primitive melodious appeals,
Authors of music of elaborate compositions,
Yet echoes from sounds of primal intuitions,
In a language that touches the heart of man,
Inspirer of poetic thoughts since time began,
Music is the fruit of what you have sown,
A seed into a blossom ‘til fully grown,
A giant on music’s grandest stages,
Yet the smallest of all the upright sages.
Songbird of influential melodies so true,
What you do is what you don’t know.