I think perhaps
your heart is a little bird,
longing to beat its wings
in the high places,
to sing and sing
until Song itself says, "Enough!"
I sit near you
and hear the flapping
of those tiny wings...
Your body seems to float away.
If you ran with all your might
you couldn't catch up
with that eager heart.
You are a creature of spirit
living here for a short while;
don't ever imagine
the bars on your cage
are a part of who you are.
Fly on, little bird:
fly on -- until flight becomes you.
