The Gentle Bird

The Gentle Bird

A gentle bird begins to sing,

While morning waits to find its hue.

It holds a blossom in its beak,

As though it knows what hope can do.

With painted wings of amber gold,

It glides through clouds of violet air.

It has no fear of open winds,

It only lives to rise and dare.

I watch it dance across the sky,

A brushstroke formed by nature’s hand.

It never questions where to go,

It never doubts where it will land.

The world below can shake and roar,

Yet still it hums a peaceful tune.

It teaches me that I can stand

Through burning sun or silver moon.

For even when the colours fade,

And storms unravel broken dreams,

The gentle bird will carry on

Across the torn and fragile seams.

It holds no weight of yesterday,

It meets the dawn with open eyes.

It shows that love can still be warm,

And carve a path through wounded skies.

So let my spirit learn to soar,

To drift through joy and through the rain.

To sing despite the changing winds,

And rise through loss, and rise through pain.

A gentle bird can guide a heart

From winter’s cold to brighter springs.

For life will bloom and lift again

On quiet, soft and steady wings.