When I was 11, 

I had a little yellow bird. 

His name was George. 

He flew around the house without bound.

Without him everything seems blurred.

This is a hard pill to swallow. 

My grief for him follows me everywhere. 

I can still hear his little chirps.

I see him everywhere in the dark.

He leaves in the light.

He's in plain sight. 

But he still hasn’t been found. 

The lonely nights get longer.

I only hear the wind from his wings,

In the misery department of my brain.

I see multiple birds that look just like him,

But none of them are him. 

I still look for my little yellow swallow. 

But he still hasn’t been found

Seven lookalikes can’t replace him.

He was my only one.

My special one.

I have lost my little yellow bird.

He’s lost in the landscape.

The landscape of sorrow.  

I miss you George.

I’ll keep looking for you.

But I havent found you yet.