A Bird's Wait
A wet bird rests in a lone corner,
Humming the song she used to sing.
And shivers every now and then,
Watching the pouring right before.
A splash of mud has soiled her wings,
Soaking the spine of her lovely plumage.
Who will drain the tear drops falling?
Knows none, even the weeping sky
Hope alone makes the bird sing and,
Wait in the corner for the gift of warmth.