Age ago there was a child with a bird
that sang a song of prison's dark sorrow.
"Such a beautiful song without a word,"
said they as they hid it for the morrow.
And so their lives went for many seasons;
one in sadness, the other naive bliss.
'Til one day the cage, for untold reasons,
swung wide upon opportunity's kiss.
With a flutter of wing the bird set free
and found home in Spring's encouraging arms.
The child, now fully grown, could clearly see
too late the wrong in hoarding selfless charms.
And thus is love when good is sorely lost
because selfishness' greed ignores the cost.
Coffee Stains & Crumpled Paper -- A Writers Guild
A haven for writers of all kinds.
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