Some time late, past Thursday noon,
I heard the song of a forlorn loon.
It beckoned that I come and hear
What it would say when I was near.
With wings stretched full,
With tilted head,
There was a lull,
And then it said,
"With love there is victory only in defeat,"
And, "Parting is a sorrow not so sweet."
Then it nestled its little head
beneath its little wings
And said some other things.
by Robert Hampton Burt