My heart yearns to be a bird
That sings her song at dawn,
A song of hope for the world
In the wee light of the morn.
She flits among the green trees
Picking notes along the way,
Weaving them into a symphony,
Which she sings the next day.
Come rain or cold or sunshine,
She never runs out of tunes,
For with those, the Sun will rise
And bathe her with warmth, too.
The world may not comprehend
The songs she sings every day.
But her songs, with the dawn, blend
To say that hope is here to stay.
wordsofhope 