The Lark

The summer arrived with a symphony
meandering through the maple-wood trees
the wind bestowed a song-bird upon me
lark or crow? i have yet to see.

he spread his wings with such adroit grace
but greeted my shoulder with a sinister face
"is that a frown that must be replaced?
upset in my presence? such a disgrace."

what is it you want, for i cannot tell,
the key to my heart, or the key to my cell,
one or the other, i still wish you well
it'll take much more than words to break this shell

what is it you want, i cannot read your mind
fair warning: my innocence shall remain Divine
tell me what you want, and perhaps do not lie
I'm not as familiar with your insides, as you are mine.