If music be the food of, let’s say life —
What, though, about the wind or birds singing?
At heart, I prefer the center, the breath.
Prescription, there of, PLAY; pick up your fife.
The wind’s “ringing”, sustenance bringing.
When birds are soaring it’s my shibboleth.
Wind’s capricious, though, can cut like a knife.
At dawn, various birds are twittering.
The Phoenix (firebird) escapes from death.
Could meditation spur me to lose weight?