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Bluebird

If I were a bluebird,
I'd soar to the heavens and simply fly.
I'd flip and flap constantly upward,
to taste a piece of the brilliant blue sky.
If I were a bluebird,
I'd stare from above
at the people not lucky enough to fly feathered,
and flutter about, up an octave.
For my soul would be free,
no longer to the ground.
I would not have to be,
perfect and molded and I wouldn't be bound.
If I were a bluebird,
I'd dive down to see,
if I could help people not heard,
still bound by the guilt from which they couldn't be free.



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