Painting A Song of the Day

I am so silent today without a song to lay on the treble or bass clef. The birds in the air are painted against the sun and the wing feathers glow pristine white. I try to open my mouth and there is not a letter or word to say. I wish that I was not stuck in this valley while everything happens on the ridge. I am gentle to the wind, but unkind to my face in the mirror. I miss those who have passed by and were unable to move in completely. I bring mirth to a thought, but the lines of artistry seem to be gloom, but not doom. Find me on the rooftop playing a flute and ask me about the presence of the moon and the absence of the sun. I bring you a hot croissant and I dedicate myself to feeding it to you very publicly. We are a mercy that begins to exist in the cells of all matter and incarceration, simultaneously. Be with me and I will let you go to tend to the TRAIN today. Now it starts to fade away and, at the same time, turn grey.