Pretty little bluebird in the tree,
by Linda Marie Van Tassell
won't you come and sing for me?
Your blue wings bristle as you fly away.
I wish I could come out to play.
But there's no room for one like me,
no room on the branch of that little tree.
You trilled to my heart your chipper number
and awoke me from my fragile slumber.
The morn is so full of lovely grace,
sweet music that changes your little face.
You rise to fly through the morning air.
There goes my soul's fondest prayer.
You soar alone, flitting high above.
There goes my one and only love.
May you soar higher than you ever flew.
May you dip your wings in heaven's blue;
but if you find there's nothing more to see,
I hope you find your way back to me.