"I miss my favourite bird",
I wrote, tired, in my little book.
Happy chirps of feathered friends,
Echoing through my gardens,
Brightening the atmosphere,
As they hunt berries in the cold.
They say there's plenty of fish,
In the vast immensity of the sea,
That is probably true, but water,
Has never really been my element.
I prefer the air, as the skies,
Offer tender lightness, unlike the abysses.
Then you blabbered those words,
"Plenty of birds are flying in the skies".
I won't contradict you there,
Mister "know it all" seems,
To be on point this morning,
Ten points for Gryffindor.
I'm still a stubborn kid at heart,
Saddened by the doomed day,
When the sweet ice cream lady,
Informed me all too lightly, that no,
I couldn't have my raspberry ice cream,
And proposed instead vanilla or chocolate.
The skies felt dark and heavy that day,
The kid ran away on the rainy paths,
Pouting at the mean world, screaming,
To finally find shelter at the foot of a tree,
Home to many birds, singing gracefully,
And spent hours witnessing them dance.
Time might have passed, evolved,
But the kid didn't and still wants,
His scoops of raspberry sorbet.
Who likes chocolate anyway...