Riddle

You’ll leave your dreams
for it.  Blossoms have
even burst
open in bliss,
limbs been left shaken.

It hides out of reach
but orchestrates its life
so you know it’s near.
It began when the sky fell
through the tiniest crack—

now that’s a rush of angels
never seen! It could be
a famous conductor’s wand
waving in the air
or your ticket to serenity.

Its odds for striking
the right note
are better than yours
(a real feather
in the world’s cap)

for over and over
it sings an old song
handed down from the first
day it was ever sung—
praising, praising everything.

Say this is for the birds,
and you’d be right,
but then the riddle’s more
how a bigger brain could find less
to praise from its high perch.

Another old favourite, first in North Shore Magazine (2008)