The bird, he sat
upon the shore
afraid to cross,
lamenting.
Making his call
in sorrowful sounds
to beg of the waters
relenting.
"It is too vast,
the way to far,"
he screeched at skies,
preventing.
And laid he down
with mournful sounds
the darkness, vile,
impending
Then past the shore
he heard a cry
his hearkened ear
a bending
and saw them there
in graceful flight,
the proud ones come,
descending.
They touched his heart
their wings of fire,
their joyful song
unending.
As they hung aloft
in joyous flight
calling, "come with us!"
ascending.
He wept in pain
to see their flight
his fear so deep,
preventing.
But, in joyous song
they called again
in praise of flight
and winding.
"It is too vast,
the way too far,"
he screeched again,
lamenting.
And laying down
prepared to die
in misery,
decsending.
But, then they came
and touched his heart
to break the spell,
preventing.
And he screamed aloud
in pain and joy,
his wings aflame and
glinting.
Into the sky
he streaked on fire
his joyful cry,
descending.
And three winged stars
flew away that night
into the sky
unending.
Yet another bird
sits on the shore
afraid to cross,
lamenting.
Making it's call
in sorrowful sounds
to beg of the waters
relenting.
He recalls he was
that bird one time
his fears so deep,
preventing.
So now he flies
to find that one
whose heart yearns for
the rending.
Diarmid
copyrighted 1993