I'm listening to the songs the birds recite

After Shakespeare's 'Sonnet 72'

I'm listening to the songs the birds recite
from in the air, the songs I've begun to love
with my whole being. I can't figure quite
the scales or modes they use, I cannot prove
the harmonies they demonstrate. I lie
beneath the sky and contemplate the desert
that Saint-Exupéry explored, and I
am lost without a well. The prince imparts
his knowledge to the princess, it's in this
exchange of knowing that love's found. The true
and sure path mystifies me, the path is
obscured by branches in the darkness. You
are Sun to my dull gloom, you're bringing forth
the song I have inside me, showing its worth.