The Bird

I sing good morning,

then I sing good night,

the stars are shining,

and the moon is bright.

The grand universe,

so beautiful- but wrong,

I’m stuck in this world,

stuck singing my songs.

They think that I’m happy,

and they think I am rare,

but my songs are sad ones,

so I stick to the air.  

The breeze is forgiving,

the trees just pass by,

The dark clouds provide cover,

so I rise up in the sky. 

The higher I fly,

the more it feels real,

This is how-

how being a bird should feel.