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A Conversation with Herself
               for Adeline Virginia Woolf
by Sharmagne Leland-St. John

When most birds sing they sing in Greek
they flap their tongues through parted beak

When sparrow opens up and sings
he bids me do such rowdy things

He plants his voice inside my head
on those grey days I stay abed

I miss the beach, the Cornish shore
I know I'll never see no more

I long for days so full of joys
I've tried to shut their squawking noise

I've tried so hard there is no use
I'll drown them out in River Ouse

I'll take some tea, I'll take some scones
I'll fill my pockets up with stones

Bury my ashes neath Elm tree
At last my spirit is set free.

In what language do they croon now
Perched there upon the dappled bough?

 

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