The Whistling Song

It’s a shadow in the door
The silver in the park
It’s a broken faded bird
You’ve learned to call your heart
It’s hotter than you can seek
Plainer than you or me
I don’t pull the lock back
And I dont have the key
It’s a poor living room
Just above the dock
Wish those wild hens there
Feathers drip from every corner
It shows the spectacle of falling
And settles to the floor
It shows the spectacle of falling
And settles to the floor