In the heart of her home, under the wide open sky,

she found a cobalt blue bird, with a tear in its eye.

Its wings were hurt; it could no longer fly.

In its eyes, a plea, a silent cry.

She gently picked it up, from the verdant grass,

wrapped it in her scarf, using her hands as soft as glass.

In a cardboard box, the bird sleeps full of sorrow,

under the watchful stars, it wishes to die tomorrow. 

Days turned into nights, hours melted into days.

The bird in the box, in the moonlight’s gentle rays. 

Its agony was profound, yet its misery soared.

Within the stillness, its sigh could be explored.

Bruised and hurting, still it aspires,

to unfurl its wings and gain its empires.

In the heart of her home, a hope never dies,

that one day, the sapphire bird will rise.