Joseph Auslander

TO drink where the birds drink—

Oh, the draught’s touch is tender and cool!

Think—

Scattered like soft buds over the brink

Of this delicate pool

The birds leave their kisses for you,

Little Lou.

To dream where the birds dream—

Oh, the wind on the leaves is drowsily wild!

Stream,

Feathers of slumber in magical number

Over our child….

The birds breathe their pale dreams on you,

Little Lou.

To die where the birds die—

Oh, why is the woodland so hushed everywhere!

And why

Are all the leaves listless and limp in mid-air

Beneath a dead sky!…

The birds, they are dying for you,

Little Lou.