In Rome,
There is silence.
Church bells lay still,
Once grand city,
Echoing the trills of black birds.
Their song, a lost cry of those who died.
In the deathly silence,
Of the plague.

My wings failed me
They can no longer fly
Forgiven, I wished to see
The glory your fins could buy.

Completely different; reverse
Our destiny wasn't the same,
Foolish to assume a converse
Between reins of a different game.

And I shall make reasons,
For I left heaven with this fall.
I committed a treason,
Drowning within the blue hall.

As I die, I wish,
A swim with you
But foolish I must be to think a fish,
Would leap out ocean's blue.

Yet you glide with ease,  
While I, a feathered relic, sink—  
Wings too weary for the breeze,  
A fate far colder than I think.  

The sky once knew my name,  
But the sea whispers none,  
Drenched in salt and quiet shame,  
Falling where no light will run.  

Tell me, do you ever dream  
Of soaring where the echoes call?  
Or is it just my hopeless scheme,  
To think the sky could break my fall?

Who's knocking at my window?
I hear you while I sleep!
Who dare disturb my own slumber!
Oh, it's only the birds,
The wind and the bare trees.
Still, I resent my bed,
The world wakes us for a reason.

The night is born prematurely,
Becoming one in blistering winds,
The dark crawls,

And the snow falls.

The gallant wings of beauty,
Besieged by winter's bellows,
Left to death as the crow calls,

And the snow falls.

The lonesome oaks tremble,
Bare in the white of creeping cold,
Creaking as they are raked by squalls,

And the snow falls.

It's a beautiful ***,
But wouldn't it benefit from some green?
I reckon you better start prepping that soil,
Because we're going to plant a tea tree!
Imagine how wonderful that would be,
Blossoming white flowers, a warm cup and bees.

Oh, imagine a garden full of bumble bees!
Buzzing about the perfect petals,
Pouring pollen into the breeze.
If only we had a garden,
We could sit and lunch,
Pastry, cheese, and the sweet drink from our tree!
Darling, while your out buying seed,
Would you grab a few more pots?

When I was young,
I believed they were 'Morning Doves.'
That they would fly down in the night,
To rest on my lawn.

Now that I'm older,
I know they're called 'Mourning Doves.'
That they were named after their haunting song,
Of all Earth's sorrows and plight.

Pretty birds in a cage
Little birds in a rage
Red, yellow, green and blue
All bonded like a glue
They try, cry and weep
They fly and forget the creep
Young friends of Earth
Flightless friends from birth
Wish they were never born
Until they eat sweet corn

I could only watch
As the people that helped me out of my egg
Took flight
As my seniors that showed me how to walk
Spread their wings
As my friends who showed me that path to the skies
Left for the clouds
Now, as I watch over the baby birds,
I know that soon, I too will have to leave.