Piccolo,
instrument of delicate melody
like warbling sparrow
in a birch tree on an early
morn,
a string of keys
upon a canvas black
of tempered wood,
thine eye
an abyss
waiting for the breath of life.
Gentle song
of lullaby
gives way to
shrill chirping calls of worry,
a mother bird
searching,
frantic,
for her tiny chick
within a forest
enveloped in darkness.
Chords of birdsong
clash,
imprecise intonation
at its peak,
rhythmic,
eerie chirrups
prior to
an unknown
storm,
tension building,
fury
of a nameless force
unleashing wrath upon the land.
Piccolo,
soprano of the woodwinds,
fingers nimble
on a flute so
small,
piercing
through orchestral harmony
with notes that linger
like
a soft breeze
on a midsummer day.