Of the Bird, And His Happiness

The bird

Sits on a tree

In a whim

Flitting to

And fro

He walks on

A branch

Light as a feather

Free as air


He sings

Of his pleasure

Looking around

At the sky

He says

He is free

To go

Where ever

He may wish


He leaves

Falling from the mother tree

Not being thrust off

For it blossom

That spirals off

The branch

Of brown-y wood


He sails

On the wind

Adventure at his tongue

Biting his lips

He sails

After the scent

Into a high wind


Through the storm

He sinks


Into water

He falls

Out of the waves

He is pulled


Lightning beauty

He flounders


Onto a barren rock

He falls


With wings tired

And the sun

Opens out


The fair sky

He opens his mouth

Sighing of the day

Of praises

Of how

He had never

Been so happy



He sings


Only those

Who have tasted sorrow

Can truly bask

Without a whim

On sated


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