Bluebird...

There was a bluebird at my window
Perched upon the sill, looking in,
His feathers plastered to his tiny frame,
I wondered where he'd been.

His eyes were glazed with tears
And I swear he was looking at me,
If he could talk I'm sure he would
But I wonder what those words might be.

Perched upon the sill and peeping,
Little bluebird was a'weeping,
I rubbed my eyes in confusion,
Was this reality or was I still sleeping?

My attention was distracted
As I noticed a flock of bluebirds in the sky,
Suddenly the little bluebird took flight
Flying low and flying high.

But to my surprise he kept returning
To the sill and peeping at me,
Then I finally understood
That he was telling me to come out and be free.

So I opened the window and leaped out
And found I needed no wings to fly,
The little bluebird perched upon my head
Lifting me up high into the sky.

 

Copyright 1985 Hans Raffelt, All Rights Reserved.

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