Upon the breeze, the bird takes flight,
Its wings outstretched, embracing light.
Yet hidden 'neath its feathers' sheen,
Lie tales of sorrow, scarcely seen.

In soaring arcs, it sings its song,
A melody both sweet and strong.
But in its eye, a tear may gleam,
A silent echo of a dream.

For even birds, with hearts so light,
May weep unseen in darkest night.
Their tears, like dew on morning's blade,
A testament to journeys made.

So let us heed the bird's lament,
And with compassion, be present.
For in its tears, a story heard,
A symphony of the soul, in tears of bird.


© zuma