I flit from branch to branch

I flit from branch to branch,

Glide from tree to tree.

The comfort comes and fades;

I always ache again

For another place to perch.

The migration can never stop;

I can never settle.

I move with the seasons,

Following the enigmatic pull

To a familiar warmth.

I keep building

Nest after nest after nest,

And stay until each one grows cold,

Then start collecting scraps again

And scout for a place to land.

Maybe home is in my feathers.

Maybe it's in the song that I sing.

Maybe it is, as they always say,

In this thing that drums and drums

Inside my little chest.