From the forest they make their home.
From a humble abode they know no other.
From the pipes of the creator they speak.
From a spiritual origin they sing.
From a sound they pass it on to another.
From melodies they become comprehensible.
From a cadence they increase their intensity.
From their secret language they communicate.
From obscurity they rise to prominence.
From a sound they pass it on to mankind.
And ode to the birds,
the inventors of melody
who inherited pure sound,
the engine that propelled them,
that was placed in their hearts,
that they used to communicate,
to mimic and refine that sound,
who fluctuated the pitch and rhythm,
who became musical instruments,
who sang their songs to mankind,
who gave them a melody to replicate,
that lived inside their hearts and minds
and became the engine that
propelled them to write
the most beautiful symphony
that was ever written.
An ode to the birds,
the creator of that sound.

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