People've always
called me a
bird,
but I don't sing
for song's sake
or inspire

I go south
for the
summer, predictably
human
   and instinctively
drawn to
fire

Dark is the night, by the light of day

Harsh are the words, which some people say

Grievous the malaise, which we often feel

Deep are the wounds, of a hurt that won’t heal

Lasting the wrong, to whom it is done

Fleeting the moment, when praises are won

Tragic the loss, of someone we love

Empty the feeling, when they are thought of
WIZDUMBs BY JA 619