My hands are of wrinkles
Worn out by the passing of time
And yet dearly cherishing on my palms
A small pendant silver & bright

Wear it not around my neck
For my poor eyes see not
But leave it brushing on my hands
For be it a gift from God

Like a Jackdaw
you threw freedom away
And stood on the windowsill
Eyes resting off the lane

The pendant such beautiful gift
A shining star falling from above
And yet lay still in the hands of another
The truth a Jackdaw would not want

The universe plays a winter song
A soprana, tenor, bass & alto,
You lift your wings & slowly left
Scared to be called a thief of a pendant, a desire that was no fate of yours.