For those fighting the good fight. |
The white waves roll in and dampen the sunbaked sand, A cool breeze climbs the shoreline towards the waiting palms, The beautiful bird is caressed by the wind, its feathers fanned, With the great island spirit swift to apply its soothing balms. On the horizon, the clouds begin to tumble and darken on high, The lofty charcoal army marches closer, its approach undeterred, Her brilliantly colored wings, subdued, under the light-starved sky, Suddenly, sweet notes dance on the air, surely a distant songbird. The beautiful bird dives toward the musical source, side-to-side careening, Following the delicate song through the wild tempest, ever forward, The ballad grows louder, but still unaware of the call’s true meaning, Until arriving without margin to the songbird’s shelter, firmly covered. The storm comes ashore with unrivaled force and malice, A relentless assault ensues as the squall delivers blow after blow, The birds huddle close together, silent in their makeshift palace, And the sanctuary stands strong against all the storm can throw. The last of the droplets fall and the blustering gale fades on cue, The beautiful bird is shaken, but peers outside through the trees, A vibrant rainbow is framed against a towering wall of endless blue, And the beautiful bird takes flight, once again, into the cool island breeze. |