little bird

a little bird
perched in the tree
next to my window
he didn't sing
but sat and listened
like he could hear
through the glass

his feathers irredescent
in the early light
so bright in the morning
as the mist caught flight
as i played my guitar
and softly sang
he sat and listened
through the glass

this little bird has his own
life
his own place to go
this little bird in his own time
will know
where to fly
and how high amidst the blue
his wings will carry him


little bird carry my song
high
carry it over the hills
as i play my guitar
and softly sing
on the other side
of the glass

the tree is empty
and a feather falls
where once
the little bird
perching still
listened
heard
and went