Guilt

That one bird singing in a crooked tree
I paused to listen to as I passed by
was like a bell rung on an empty sea.

From where I stood it wasn't hard to see
its blood-red plumage and its small black eye.
That one bird singing in a crooked tree

seemed desolate as any thing could be
for how it cried out; but that hollow cry
was like a bell rung on an empty sea.

There wasn't anything about but me.
The clouds were graven in the still, gray sky.
That one bird singing in a crooked tree

had only but to move to set me free,
to lean into the desert air and fly;
but, like a bell rung on an empty sea

it cawed its caw. I took the liberty
to cough, then cried; but still it sang. How sly
that one bird singing in a crooked tree,
like deafening bells upon an empty sea.