I saw a bird,
On its feet on my kitchen floor,
And as swiftly as it came into visual,
It fluttered off.
It was a sparrow,
A small brown thing,
But alive and free.
And it made me smile.
It made me smile,
For all the reasons,
I don't have what it had,
Freedom, throughout the seasons.
Its always birds isn't it,
That make us think of freedom:
The flight of swallows in dusk,
Or the release of doves on Easter.
Its always those birds isn't it,
That make us feel deep within,
How it would be like to fly,
And to rise up above everything, above wind and sky.
But what does it really mean to be free?
The wondrous spread of wings,
And the ability to lift off from the ground?
And to soar above the clouds?
It was a bird,
That made me smile,
And think to myself,
How so much more than a bird am I!
