my sweet little bird is dead
wide afar free at last
hovering alight moves
to rhythm of the dark

through passing open winds
from foamy feather clouds
its fiery serpent wings
preened away by doubt

and breaks into the blue
shallows of a brook
to find a mirror gaze
anchored crystal look

my sweet little bird awaits
eyes perched on marbled moon
nesting sight of promises
spouting beak a croon

lost in shrubs of distant arms
leaves of plunging dreams
steering tweet a call of night
and grip the shade of trees

though when its frigid heart
may trace a sunlit path
a glancing summer shower
shall spring a velvet bath

my sweet little bird will fly
to blooming meadows ripe
rejoice at warmth of love
and span a tranquil sky