I am the poet called, Sweetsilverbird, but friends all know that I will never fly; unless it is by every waking sigh or every dream or wish or written word. I have a tender heart that's often stirred, but that's the code that I would live life by. I could not bear to try to live a lie, so of all subterfuge I have been cured. I think because life has been so unfair, I will not play the games that others play. Why does a lifetime have to go so fast? Why tolerate the cruelty that's there? But I am made of simple human clay and only live as long as I shall last.