Birdsong in Pandemic
We began to notice the birds,
Or so we thought, their music
Rising above silence, as we
Spoke less and less,
Heads in frames on screens,
Or distantly in masked clusters.
Dang, those warblers and thrushes?
Their voices—aren’t they thundering?
Yes, chimed the neighbor behind her veil.
The birds have turned up their symphony.
Only they hadn’t, the experts say.
In their measured tones, they explain:
The world\'s din drowned before,
The birds sang just the same—
Only softer, now no need to scream.
Why then do we hear them, you ask,
As if each chirp was a bellow?
Not because they grew louder,
But because we, in our confinement,
Grew quieter, more desperate to listen.
Poetry of isolation is what we found—
A birdsong present always,
Yet only now do we truly hear it,
In our longing suddenly clear.