My Bird LITANY

You are the rising sun and the fire,

the cup and the tea.

You are the cloud in the blue sky,

and the silver plate of the moon

You are the white chalk of the teacher

and the grass growing among the flower.   

However, you are not the thunder in the dark,  

the dust in the corner,

or the pot of fish.  

And you are certainly not the angry bird.   

There is just no way you are the angry bird.

It is possible that you are the running  horse in the grasslands,   

maybe even the apple falling on the Newton’s head,  

but you are not even close   

to being the shadow of the buildings under the burning sun.  

And a quick look in the mirror will show,

that you are neither the duckweed  in the river,

Nor the stone in the mud.

It might interest you to know,   

Speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world,   

That I am the song of birds on the trees.   

I also happen to be the boiling water,

the willow branch swaying in the wind,

and the exam paper in the school bag.

I am also the light in the night,

and the sailor’s  compass.

But don't worry; I am not rising sun and the fire.

You are still rising sun and the fire.

You will always be rising sun and the fire,

Not to mention the cup and—somehow—the tea