Good morning, child of day
I see you’ve once come again to play.
In the east there is a sun
Which gives a light to everyone.
But from out that light that touches the sky,
A black bird will take aim and fly.
In a morning’s breeze, sweet wind will utter,
But o’er the land the black bird’s eyes flutter.

The black bird creases the light over the yard,
Encompassed with damp dirt and broken glass shards.
A simple stone without much to display
Settles itself in a grave of disarray.
A simple name all but faded from the gray
Comes to greet his eyes as it fades away.

Through a window of tears, he eyes the sole grave.
Remembering the name of the woman he didn’t save.
The black bird’s shadow rises o’er his head
And touches him with black wings of downy thread.
An ebony object in an open plain of sky
Follows him through with a shrieking cry.

Eyes rising, he notices the aviator.
He calls on God, calls on a Savior,
Yet there is only the black bird.
No divine whisper will be heard
Or penetrate the stillness induced by the black bird.

The times have eroded the poorly fashioned stone.
Should it fade completely, should she be dethroned,
His life will be of little meaning,
His eyes no more swimming in tears than dreaming,
For the woman he remembers is now seeming,
Like a window to the past where he is still dreaming.

“Joanna, my Joanna,” he calls to the ground.
The black bird echoes overhead without a sound.
As it circles and chases him down,
He lays upon the forlorn grave and wishes to drown
In the depth of the dirt upon which he lays,
He finds the strength to join hands and pray.

The black bird swoops and ruffles his hair,
And upon the grave he lays still without a care.
A ghost in his mind and a mystery of the heart
Keeps his mind agile and alerts his poor heart
To the shadow of a figure striding down the pavement way
Walking in time with the black bird to greet the new day.

There she is, clothed in all black
With flaxen curls still flowing down her back!
Her face pale and cold with December
Or perhaps with the death she does not remember?

From the dirt, his head arises anew
With a beating heart, he only counts a few
Specks of the shadow the black bird casts
O’er her face and his heart, both adorned in black.

A veil flutters then lifts off his heart,
And his eyes connect to hers through the ringing of a harp,
Yet her eyes turn away to probe a nearby posy bush,
And off the ground he lifts himself with a push.

There is a sticky feel as his body finds the air.
He looks down and there is red everywhere.
His heart bleeds with intensity, his limbs turn to black.
He calls out for the health he will never get back.

She does not seem to notice him, she is unaware
That he burns in the dirt with a bleeding heart to repair.
And a soul that melts from his body like ice.

His flesh follows suit, soon he will be a skeleton --
Rotting and decaying in the eyes of man.
His mistress turns away,
Her eyes not ready to face but ready to betray.
With love, he cries and burns
For her own love to return.

Red seeps through the dry grave soil.
His body is made of rock and oil.
Bony fingers scrape the old stone,
Unto which his own last day is shown.

There, on that old dreadful rock,
Is not the name of his love as he had thought,
But his own name, clear to see
Its origins veiled in shrouds of mystery.

One thing remains clear through his burning time:
He is not guilty of this crime.
“Come back, my sweet lady,
Return to love’s arms! Should
You come and save me,
I promise no harm!”

His lady ignores him, her eyes see only posies.
His bony neck cranes to see the only
Choice she makes is for herself and all alone
He will be on an unmarked grave stone.

No, for the retched thing isn’t unmarked!
There is his name, glowing in the midst of dark!
“Joanna, my Joanna, why do you
Turn away -- is it not I you choose?”
He may call and call but she will not listen --
She will simply stand idle with blue eyes that glisten.

Can she not hear me? He wonders,
Or has cruelty become her deathly blunder?
The poor undead woman, without a soul to get around,
He thinks, O my poor love! May she find solid ground.

Why, then, can I not find my own footing
If she is the one with undead eyes for looking?
Has death made her a wicked witch
Who has put a spell on me in this sorry ditch?
Or am I not as alive as I believed?
Could she be the one with more life to retrieve?

His thoughts freeze the remainder of his soul.
Should he freeze in the dirt or does he want to grow old?
His hand outstretches, reaching for her body clothed in a quilt,
But her eyes shun him with the frailty of guilt.

To the gallows she sent him, without one cry of dread.
To this day, he still does not know he is dead!
Believing it is her lying underneath that sorry stone
While he lives on like a majesty dethroned!

Up above, the black bird utters a sharp cry
As he watches the two lovers’ minds go awry.
One in true death, one in false life,
The black bird judges the troubles of man’s strife.
From up above on his soft cloudy perch,
The black bird silently judges the peasants, the kings, and the bloody church.
For he is the sole one with the omnipotent eye,
Who witnesses all through two beady black eyes.

A man and a woman, separated by time
Come together under his all-seeing eyes.
Though they know not of each other’s pain,
The futile calls of the man repeat like a song’s refrain.
Great hope has that man, for he doesn’t give up,
Even when the black bird’s judging from up
In the torrents of sky, the man will keep talking
And the woman keep walking.

His body is in shreds now, his blood one with the soil.
He gets no relief, even in death, from a life of turmoil.
In love, he can’t find her -- in death, she is gone,
Fallen from heaven like a sad angel’s song.

A new sun peaks over the horizon.
Two suns in the sunset, both keep an eye on
The two lovers’ final goodbye,
One through a golden ray of time,
And one through a silvery moonlit eye.

Two suns in the sunset, battling in the sky
Over which one takes day and when night is nigh,
Will die in the west and greet a black day
Unto which the black bird will lead us astray.

A man and a woman --
Such simple terms!
But how shall she love him in a vat full of germs?
His body is fruitful for the trees overhead,
Her tears once more staining the hair on his head.

And there he lay, dead as can be,
When she finally finds him, seemingly across a gray sea.
His soul floats above her now that night is on its way.
Two suns in the sunset will greet the new day.

The black bird makes choices as his ghost flies above her,
Miles and miles into the sky above her.
There his soul goes! Wave goodbye,
Dear Joanna, for night is now nigh!

He finds no heaven in death,
She finds no happiness in life.
So nights after his departure, she follows with a knife.
One little cut to the bottom of her heart,
And soon, she hopes, he will wait at the start.
And he won’t be angry for the knife in her heart.

Two suns in the sunset set behind the old graveyard.
Now, instead of one, there are two stones in the yard.
One was there before, and one is fairly new.
One says, “Here lies the mister, he was fair and true.”
And the other says, “Here lies Joanna,
O my Joanna, what has happened to you?”

Two suns in the sunset as the black bird flutters by.
His black eyes hold the world’s greatest secrets
On the wings of a black butterfly.
O’er the lovers’ graves, he circles and cries,
His mournful sounds mixing with the lovers’ undead sighs.
And their souls on the waves of those sighs,
Will reflect in the black bird’s solemn eyes,
There are two suns in the sunset,
And a lover’s final