Birdsong

The little birds sing with the rising dawn. Slowly I wake, my face sad and withdrawn. The songs the birds sing, of my task they remind me. Slowly I smile, and that's how my friends find me. Ever so cheerful, I always laugh, always grin. They have no idea what I hold within. For a person so strong, they don't know that I'm frail. Reaching, and hurting, smiling and supporting. But then the day is done, the sun sets, the birdsong stops. It is then, and only then, that my mask drops. There's no need to smile, there's no one to please. The darkness reveals what the day hides from me. In the dark I face that I am alone. That I don't know who I am, or what is hope, where is home. But then, as I tire, I'll go to sleep. I'll dream silly things until the birds start to sing. The dawn will come, and my mask will rise with it. IT'S MASK TIME! Daniexelle M. Lingofelter