I Know Where I'm Going

by Carle P. Graffunder

The hour has come the Blackbird said
When we must fly or flee.
I’m not quite sure exactly what
EXACTLY we can see,
But if the sky is golden red,
And foggy is the valley,
Then likely it is night or morn;
And now’s no time to dally.

We must escape the Painter’s brush,
Our feathers black must bristle.
‘Twould be a shame if tainted we
Were not allowed our whistle.
We go at once to fly or flee,
But where we cannot say.
It matters not when Jaybirds screech,
Just flap your wings and pray.

The biggest Blackbird (one of them)
Stood up and looked around.
“Why, brothers all,” (said sober-lee),
“Let’s just stay on the ground.
“There’s not a robin, squirrel, or snake
“That’s fiercomer than us.
“And all that ever we must do
“Is simply stop the fuss.”

“The hour is here!” rode on the breeze.
But when or why or wherefore?
No sagely bird did shake his head
With knowing metaphor.
But if the sky is turning red
And foggy is the valley,
Then likely it is night or morn
And now’s no time to dally.