Alone I rest atop a distant peak
Above a flowing river down below.
Expansive silence fills the pretty scene.
Four dear companions often come and go.
I call them friends, though never do they speak,
Nor wisdom can I from their birdcalls glean.
But love I do, these peers of wing and beak.
The kea green that treks the alpine slope
Stays by my side in flightless lethargy.
Canary yellow, proudly standing guard,
Shall strive to warn of looming tragedies.
The nightingale, a weeping queen in trope,
Cries out in open air from up afar.
The fourth, the morningbird, perched on my hand,
Another master of the lyric arts,
Leans close to me to share his gentle song.
He croons in hope that I may understand.
But sadly we will always be apart
In spirit, even if I stay for long,
For dwell he here, while greater heights I seek.