The bird and time
I have a massive book the pair is one
upon which I place a sheet of paper,
for lines meant to be written down,
that I write for you in order to walk through.
It is a dictionary, leather bound,
full of history in and out,
to guide my hand and carry
the pen inspired by a simple sound.
It must have been a little bird,
come to sit on a branch
for just a while.
The sound, the thought and the story that he told
merged into ONE, and indeed a tale that's very old,
but still to my pen made me revert.
the perfume of the lady made him court,
thus I heard the message being wrought,
from a little bird being spoken,
thank you my friend for this crafty token.
"Listen to me from the branch of this majestic tree,
let us fly to new worlds of adventure,
the vast space that we touch in this order measure,
BE WITH ME,
let's not waste time in search of silly security."
"But I'm afraid," said she, "I'd stay here fain.
Do I know for sure your words be not in vain?
With time all shall be well at last,
I shall find the love in all my dreams gone past.
His eyen brighter than thine,
his feathers more colorful I'll find.
With time I'll play,
into his hands my future I'll lay."
"NO," spoke my friend.
"The words that for you I have spoken
like this tree with light shall soon be broken.
This moment, too, will never come again,
time's not a friend,
but his henchmen, fear and suffering, he will send."
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