A most marvelous morning,
I sit cross-legged high above the swaying green grasses,
then flew a bird- the moment adorning,
With white striped wings swimming in the wind's gentle passes,
The bird- I knew not her name,
but she had a yellow beak,
I wonder how'd she see the world through her small beady eyes,
Are humans like ants? Do we walk in lines, or is our gait unique?
O nameless mystical bird!
Of nature's infinite secrecy- you are a part.
We have named you a name you probably haven't heard,
You remind me of a lady I once saw - a specimen of art,
Much like your yellow beak, I've never heard her lips speak,
Your flawless flight, her auburn hair,
Your mysticism, her wild streak,
Both belong in my Vanity Fair,
Where nothing is earthly,
nothing is the same,
and love does not always,
have a name.