The Poet and the Oystercatcher

The poet asked the oystercatcher
feeding on the shore
why is the world my oyster
when all the earth seems poor,
I know those pearls they glisten
adorned round ladies necks
appear as though from nowhere
wrapped round such tiny specks,
why, why is the world my oyster
shy bird won't you tell,
when the mountains are all falling
and the darkness cast its spell?

I have no rhyme or reason
to tell you what you seek
for the sands of time keep moving
on each morning of the week,
you know I need no language
to talk to sea or sky
and the secrets that I carry
go with me when I fly.

Why is the world your oyster
why should I tell you thus?
when the words that I may tell you
would be trampled in the fuss,
for fools don't like to listen
to things they're often told,
exchanging all their senses
for a pocket full of gold.

The poet shed some tears
for things that he had lost
for his burden it was heavy
the price was twice the cost,
come bird tell I ask you
the answer to my rhyme,
for the tide again is turning
and running with the time?

The bird broke into song
both ears, two restrained,
the heavens they did open
on both of them it rained,
Sit beside the waters
just be, be quiet still
and the glory of creation
your priceless soul shall fill,
for the world it is your oyster
if you would but believe,
for the more that you shall give
the more you shall receive.