I will send the birds to you
And they will sing
What I cannot say
For whose lips dare proclaim
That they can speak of love
Love is the force behind all
Mere thinking mort I
And cannot speak the divine
Yet a bird is pure and knows
What to sing and when
So watch, for birds, and listen
They will not lie
Like I might, they are sweet
Where I am cold, able
Where I fail and on wing
They flit with the elegance
Of a ballet with no schooling
They have my envy as I plod
On square feet towards
My mortal grave