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The Bird

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I saw a bird today.
Chirping.
Flying.
Oh, to be free, as little birds are free,
Is just a dream that makes the angels sing.
I weep for a chance,
To hope,
To be, a little bird.
Not worrying about pain,
Because survival
is flying.
A would feel the clouds,
The wind,
Under my wings.
I'd crave
Simple foods
and simple things.
I envy the birds,
Not for their ability to fly or sing.
But for the ability,
To fall,
And how they still manage,
To fly anyway.



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