Poem | |
I want to touch your life
and leave a mark ...
... a deep impression ...
So you will think of me
and of my smile ...
... my sweet expression ...
I long to touch your life
and leave a sign ...
... a warm inscription ...
So you will care for me
and keep in mind ...
... a clear description ...
I need to touch your life
and leave a joy ..,.
... an inspiration ...
So you will love me soon
in reality ...
... not imagination ...
*For S.K.A.T.'s give it to me straight contest ...
Poem | |
My heart skips a beat my love each and every time
I’m with you my dearest sweet and lovely Darling
Since the passions and feelings you stir in me
Touch the very depth of my inner being and soul
And render themselves not to mere words only
Suitable for depiction, exhibition, understanding
Rather to the image and strength of your beauty
And your rapturous desire and feeling as they
Defy rational attempts at any simple description
For you are the most radiant beyond all compare
My heart skips a beat my love when we lie together
Locked in a most enchanting embrace and kissing
So deeply, palpably that we run out of breath and pant
Anxiously at what comes next in our mutual longing
And crescendo as our passions explode and express
Themselves in a most hungry trail of urges and desires
Which makes finding love for us all the more magical
Pairing us together like a couple of star-struck kids
Lost impossibly in moments of hope and imagination
In a timeless world of love, desire, emotion, and oneness
My heart skips a beat my love when we walk so closely
Hand-in-hand talking, laughing, and living our dreams
Confronting the world and taking on whatever comes
Next as we steer our ship of destiny on a true course
Where our like-thoughts and deep love for each other
Mean something quite special that only Dreamers and
Poets can imagine and set to melody and harmony in perfect
Verses of sheer passion and delight painted onto a canvas
Of unending happiness where Heaven and Earth are one
My heart skips a beat my love when we’re forever one
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
(November 5, 2014) (Free Verse)
Poem | |
Ignorance is definitely a description of bliss
Look at Washington if you don’t believe this
They are never on target, they always miss
Their biggest decision is whose butt to kiss
We were told we were getting change
It looks the same, now ain’t that strange
The positions of the rich just rearrange
Take care of their own, they prearrange
Maybe I was hoping for something new
But what I see is the same old doodoo
Filling their pockets, screwing me and you
Spitting on the Red White and Blue
Society brainwashed, a robotic crowd
Entitlement minded, crying out loud
Sorry boys, no thinking allowed
Socialism will make you proud
They say they will make the country strong
But I’m watching now and see the wrong
Change has been coming for oh so long
But you are still singing the same old song
Bliss isn’t living off a government check
Being a dependent, a financial wreck
Ready to sail but no one on deck
Living with a noose tied around your neck
Bliss is different for you and me
A pursuit of happiness and being free
Earning a living, the right to be
Productive members of a society.
Poem | |
I’ve distanced myself
I didn’t mean to
Didn’t set out to do it
An unconscious act of the mind
For self preservation
My visits went to once a week
Sunday dinners that once lasted for hours
Became shorter and shorter
Until now its get in
Get it cooked
Clean it up
And we’re out
Occasionally circumstances would
Happen and one would be missed
Oh well I’ll go during the week
Sometimes I did
Sometimes I didn’t
Today my heart cried to be near you
I entered the home and immediately
Settled my mood into the atmosphere
Funeral home-esque for lack of a better description
I speak in hushed tones
Slow my movements
And quiet my spirit
You want something
Oh thank you give me a job
What do you need???? Anything
I’ll gladly do anything
So many things hurt you now
You who were so tough reduced to such pain
Questions, answers, questions, answers
Over and over and over
This is the part I know
I’ve practiced this so many times before
You speak and in mid sentence you cry
Have I seen my sister,,you can’t remember
Ever seeing my sister, have you seen her
Yes mom remember mom
My answers are calm
You look searching in my eyes
Yours, sunken, confused,
Pained, with a depth of sadness
I haven’t seen before
I look away.
I meet all the needs you’ve asked of me
I pat you, hug you, pray with you
I look at my brother, the saint
He’s tired, worn, sad
I leave, I’m OUT
How’d I get here
How long have I been driving
The sky so desperately gray
Muted tones of nothingness
The air feels so heavy
Like a shroud encompassing me
The river runs beside me
It rages from the wind
There’s no stopping its power
It’s dark and gloomy and brown
And suits my mood
I try to pray
HOW DO I PRAY
Do I pray for healing,
Health, life, death
Joy, maybe peace
I cry out to you
I DON’T KNOW HOW TO PRAY
I look to the sky and see
The smallest spot of the most beautiful sapphire blue
In a sea of nothing
And I cry
Poem | |
Take my letter to her, O Messenger!
Yes, totally washed are its words and phrases
A deed of my flooding eyes I couldn’t deter
The tornado of tears accumulated for ages
The storm of anguish concealed in heart
Washed all urges of soul that flowed from pen
The torrents rumbling from the start
Once started couldn’t be stopped there and then
Her perception will be triggered, I am sure
This blank sheet will reveal all that I meant to say
The power of love will her instincts conjure
My feelings, my urges won’t go astray
Tell her, that the lustrous mansion of pride and ego
Is falling to pieces like the house of cards
The dark alleys of life that lost their glow
In a state of disrepair, description beyond words
The King of Diamond has lost the game
A player is lucky to hold the three A’s
Lost is all the glory and fame
Built in years and lost in days
His eyes craving for your enchanting face
The candles of his eyes weep in the desolate nights
Lost is all peace and tranquility’s trace
Your charming features his heart ignites
A few breaths are left in the dying tree of life
With fallen leaves and barren branches entwined
Resuscitate and free it from torments and strife
Be a glow of the dimmed eyes that brilliantly shined
Tell her, the writer awaits your reply
With burning heart and soul alight
Before torments enhance and wounds multiply
And the bird of life takes to wing of flight
Poem | |
*****To the naked EYE, this poem may seem like gibberish,
but I assure you it is loaded with 24 palindromes,
3 palindrome phrases, 1 hidden palindrome phrase,
and is chock full with enormous wordplay...
oh and one more palindrome in this description.
Can you find more? I challenge you word freaks!*****
____SATAN OSCILLATE MY METALLIC SONATAS____
Last night, around eleven or so, I decided to paint a pink castle.
To my dismay, on display, is what looks more like a pink asshole.
Picasso would've been so proud!
Today, upon recording nothing short of a colossal debacle,
I've chosen to
utilize the eyes of a hostile apostle.
Tossing docile scribble, I'm scribing.
Describing life like a diatribe conniving REVIVER at a revival.
Palindrome EYE to the side of my tribe.
Get in line, standing at the hands of HANNA.
RISE AND VOTE SIR!
POP a PEEP at NOON!
DAD got so damn mad he DID the DEED
and split three XANAX with his MADAM and MOM!
(ALA the ABBA GIG way back in them AHA kookie KOOK days)
Back to peek hassle!
Do ya' think he might like ta' take a stab at my STATS?
*****(this was fun as fun can be:
hope you have half as much fun with it as I did:)*****
Poem | |
I am more than description
a smile and blue eyes
defined by the surface
where mask can hide lies
I am passionate lover
more than a poet
I've had to taste it
before I ever wrote it
I am into moments
more than minutes
chasing one's heart
not winning pennants
I am finding more
in the least of these
random acts of kindness
become dreams to seize
I am learning to listen
nature's whisper speaks
some things labeled progress
in reality reek
I am convinced that brilliance
is found in less words
and that most of the experts
are truly absurd
I am a creative mind
imagination still runs wild
the world rushes to rote
and loses its inner child
I am drawn to the arts
where emotion rules
where risk are taken
wise are labeled fools
I am not competing
to pen a better play
but to treasure unique
go a different way
I am finding myself
where no mirror can go
connect to the Spirit
It's from within I grow!
Sponsor: FRANK H.
Contest Name: I AM
Poem | |
Have written a number of love poems
never one with so much meaning
As I near the end of my seventy-nineth year
My love is more melancholy leaning
Been lovestruck for quite a number of years
But now with my advancing age
Our union is even more precious than ever
Our love has turned a new page
Tinged with a kind of quiet contentment
Like a favourite easy chair
Just to feel the presence of your soul mate
And the love the two of you share
No other feeling can even come close
It defies conventional description
It's the culmination of a lifetime of love
In the purest form, no restrictions
Why is it we only discover real love
When the leaves on the trees start to fall
We spend a lifetime in search of that moment
When it was right beside us after all
© Jack Ellison 2014
Poem | |
Poetry My Life
Poetry my life, my happiness
Poetry my life, my journey, my success, my future and true me
Poetry my dream, my light, my life
Poetry my point and believer
My life and description of ambition and tolerance
Poetry my light of darkness to brightness of emotional success
Poetry my friend, adviser and encourager
Poetry my vision and mission of life
My life and clay in my hands to build a future and journey of my life
Poetry my voice, my story and explanation
Poetry my life and a way of independency of my feet and freedom
Poetry my experience, my challenge, my fighter and way forward
Poetry my life, poetry my perseverance and healer
Poetry my life, poetry my smile and way of meeting circumstances that turn a to better calling
Poetry my life, poetry my life of reaching mountains and nations
Poetry my life; poetry my life
Poetry my way of calming and never looking back
Indeed you are my life poetry
Poetry my life, poetry my internal life of going forward
Poetry my life, poetry my life
Poetry my life
Poem | |
I began to tell of the two pens (my couplet) I always carry tucked away in my shirt
pocket, and of my humble closet which contains nary a pocketless shirt.
My thoughts drifted to what by.. and how I am inspired, when my love and I began speaking
of a subject very dear to me.
When we finished .... in what I believe to be an infused prayer,...perhaps inspiration to
some,... I saw what seemed to be liquid glass like droplets ..falling slowly from above ..
as a slow motion shower into an atmosphere of what may have been, space and time. I saw
no earth or sky.
These liquid glass droplets were falling without disruption through a pellucid barely
recognizable outline of a figure that I perceived to be a poet.
Somewhere from within I asked why the poet could not be lined somehow with a shell to
capture these apparently valuable liquid glass treasures. They were so clear that the
atmosphere through which they were falling, appeared as a gloom gray.
I understood that these treasures cannot be contained or retained. They must fall
through the poet who must also be like these liquid luculent treasures in order that these
particular gifts may come through the poet ..continuing to transform same and all others who
allow these treasures to permeate them.
There is no clearer description within me to give. ...
And then... I was no longer free and came back into the pain,
discomfort and seemingly bloated entity
within this shell.. that I call me.
Poem | |
Upon testing the waters they spring to life,
Always over indulging,
Never being able to say no,
In complete denial about the situation.
With a captive audience they perform for all,
While some find their performance appauling.
But still they continue to entertain all,
With some "funny talk,"
And a "funny walk,"
Their vision is blurred, so they can't see.
That people are really laughing "at" them,
For lack of talent,
And not knowing it,
Honestly speaking, you feel bad for them.
When gently told to sit this one out,
They're livid, or
Blind to the fact,
That they're embarassing, themselves, and others.
On the other hand, When they're not drinking,
They're people we all know and love,.
Feelings of guilt and embarassment surface,
The next morning,
For I've just given a vivid description of me...
Poem | |
Little Innocence was forged into the world
A shrill Sound flickered around the expecting eyes
Laughter carved out of marble
A statue thought to beat immortality
Yet Fear had a surprise
It crept into the cradle with ease
Laughter was choked
Tears burst instead
And Sadness had a form
Evil found in youth a red soil
Jealousy marched with Envy
Lust befriended Desire
Until cupid threw a bunch of arrows
Excitement beyond description
A Thrill with no past
Sentiments were aroused
Pride threw some words
Ego played its part
And when Love meddled to defend its territory
The Heart bled in utter silence!
© Guru Jad 2013
Poem | |
We are all so young,,, even the ‘old hands’
Imagining a time with no bull rope is hard to plan
It’s riding with a heart and unflagging spirit revealed
That’s a most fitting description of what’s usually concealed
The dream most have had since they were born
About riding horses, bulls, and such without scorn
It’s about the ride, that 8 seconds of time
That lead you and the bull to a place uniquely sublime
Riding bulls or whatever, it really don’t matter
As long as your heart, your family, and your thoughts aren’t scattered
Whether it’s the big show or not, you really don’t mind
You’d ride a milk cow if she’d fly out the gate, so inclined.
So even if you ride for the money, or the fame
No matter what you draw, you look for no blame
Because even though bones, and tendons are often broken
And if you’re deemed old because your thirty something year is now unspoken
It’s really the heart that prevails when the body can’t follow
And provides that last 8 seconds, that make you feel less hollow
And,,, when someday your heart and mind don’t yearn for the ride,
It’s time to reflect and possibly stand off to the side.
Life doesn’t end for there’s still plenty to do
There is always a new bull rider that wants to be you
They may need a hand, and inspiration or two
And a true bull rider’s heart is to return the gift given you.
Poem | |
What a slap in the face!
It’s an international disgrace!
and (subversion in action)
It’s now commonly used in parlance by judiciary
while in literature this prevalent (lie) I see.
With a bland, enough face?
or is there the hint of a trace?
Could there be in its origin, a.. motive? or motion
created to infiltrate a nations notion?
A.. (sort of sufferance)
involved with its utterance!
So (abused & misused) is the category
I must zero in all my batteries,
Now I am clearing my decks,
here I go, what the heck!
For I have admiration for a Francophile
would converse with a Russophile
I so enjoy your work Faberge
and appreciate the charm of the Gallic sway
But for me there is no third way!
(now) without any doubt I am coming about
And stoking all my fires
for full ahead’s my desire.
On the literary beach
I see a very (rotten peach)!
And it was ‘hidden’ in full view
Hmm.. let’s see what some firepower can do
For the doting parents who pray
keep our kids safe today.
Hardworking moms & dads who care,
find time that is to spare
From extra help with early reading
to painting nursery room ceilings
Some working 14-hour days
it makes me angry I say.
Aunts & uncles, grandparent, teachers
of calm nature and reason
With motives pure and in step
with life’s seasons
And the name of the paedophile should by rights be theirs,
its been hijacked, does anyone care?
It’s too good a description, just not the depiction
to be bandied about, LISTEN
AS I SHOUT WITH TRUE INDIGNATION
CHANGE THIS DECEPTION OF NATIONS
© Joe Maverick 25-04-2011
Poem | |
The Mighty One
(A Description of “Scene du deluge”)
He straddles jutting rocks beneath a pall
of sky. Beneath is swirling water, and
the crooked arm of one lone tree is all
he’s found to cling to with his left curled hand.
An older man, who also grasps the tree,
upon the young man’s sturdy back is borne.
His legs are dangling. Awful weight is he
for him who stands exposed, his clothing torn.
His wife hangs from his other hand. One breast
is clutched by her small babe, and from her strains
another child to keep from dark waves’ crest.
The burden of them all - one man sustains!
Can he, mere mortal, thwart their cruel demise?
Stark terror holds the answer in his eyes.
**Many years ago I visited the Louvre, and there I beheld a picture by Girodet of the romantic
era . This painting stood out for me because of its depiction of a family in such huge peril
that they were totally dependant on one man and only his strength could save them all. If
you copy and paste this link, I hope you might see this stunning picture. The picture's name
translates to "Scene of a Flood"
Poem | |
Patradoot or The Messenger29 /Many
English version by Ravindra K Kapoor
Originally written in Hindi by my
Late father Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor
These young boys and girls, were brought up,
By their parents, with great love and affection,
Now they are mad, in love for their motherland,
To show the splendors of their youthful energy.
They are ready even to sacrifice their heads,
What to say of body pains and tortures inflicted on them,
By seeing such fearlessness and energy of their youth,
Even the enemy gets ashamed of, dear letter.
Triloki was one of these young boys,
Who happily took bullets on his chest, dear letter,
And kept on moving ahead without withdrawing,
Keeping the dignity of our nation and Satyagraha.
DESCRIPTION OF MY CITY ALLAHABAD
You will find my beautiful city Allahabad,*
In an ecstasy and full of rapture, flowing in it’s air,
When you will move on its roads and streets,
Along with the Postman, dear letter.
Kanpur India 12th August 2010 to continue in 30
* Allahabad Also know as Prayag or Triveni is the most ancient city
of India, where river Ganga and Yamuna now meets at
the holy place called Sangam.
Protected as per Poetry Soup’s copy write protections
If any reader who is not a member of Poetry soup
Has any question or queries, they can
Send me an email on email@example.com
Patradoot in Hindi was originally written by my late father
Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor around 1932, who was a freedom fighter.
He wrote Patradoot in Hindi, when he was kept in Faizabad Jail for quite
a long time. The Epic was written as a gift for my mother and it was
sent to her secretly from Faizabad Jail. He was imprisoned
by the British, as he was fighting for India's freedom
under the leadership of Mahatma Gandhi. He was imprisoned
many times during 1920 to 1947. After India’s
independence as a true follower of Gandhi Dr. Amar Nath
Kapoor left active politics and devoted rest of his life in
writing easy mass literature and wrote many Dramas,
Poetry books, epics. All his other literary
works were mainly written from 1955 to 1990.
He left this mortal world in 1994.
Poem | |
Who coined this term?
Who decided to limit one’s spirit?
Who decided to deprecate those qualities that remain hidden?
Out of my league…
What is the measure?
Who created the scale?
Is it beauty????
There is an inner splendor that defies the term
Is it grace????
There is the graceful movement of the soul that
moves beyond the boundaries of description
Is it shapeliness???
The shapes and forms of the mind, the curves and lines
Are unclothed in words and unseen by eyes
Is it sexual dynamism???
The body may be painted by an artist, but it has no power to satisfy
desire unless it succumbs to the promptings of a sensual mind
Is it wisdom???
There is the wisdom verified by degrees and the wisdom of the world
which is broader and at times deeper than the few letters at the end of a name
Is it wealth???
The wealth of the world does not even begin to tip the scale
In comparison to the wealth of human character…integrity, loyalty, mercy, and love
What is it???
What is that illusive quality
That demands the stamp of
“Out of my league?”
I defy it
I renounce it
No one can label me…
Yet...I am in a league of my own
A dynamism that a label cannot hold
A wealth that cannot be weighed
A wisdom that guides inner spheres of life
A shapeliness that flaunts the norm
A sensuality that inflames thought and movement
A beauty that shines in its own right
Yes! I am in a league of my own
If you are turned away
By outer appearances
By lack of wealth
And the trappings of prestige
You are missing the treasure
The sheer enigma
Of a mind that is deep, unbound, free
In this league that I live and breath in
This league of....ME!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Poem | |
Let me set something straight -
Right here, right now!
Let me put India in the right perspective,
Let me banish some myths,
Some gross misconceptions,
And take you beyond elephants,
Sacred cows, snake charmers and yoga,
Beyond Gandhi, Mother Teresa, Taj Mahal,
To a civilization rooted for
over 5,000 years in the past
To a land rich - majestically rich -
In many cultures, customs and traditions,
In a bewildering variety of races,
Religions, languages and folk arts,
In a vibrant tradition of dance and music,
In religious festivals and traditional events,
In saints, sadhus, gurus and sages,
In gods, goddesses, munis and mahatmas,
In temples, palaces, shrines and monasteries;
I'll baby-steps you through a land
Of Vedas and Upanishads,
Of epic stories and incredible mythologies,
Of Ramayana, Mahabharata and Bhagavad Gita,
Through one of world's great spiritual sanctuaries,
Where religion is a way of life;
An overwhelming, complex land -
Its charm, its vitality and yes, its confusion,
Atonce alarming and enticing.
And that's the way India is:
Elusive, confusing, contradictory,
mysterious and exasperating!
Beyond easy description or analysis,
A phenomenal diversity of dress
and manners making one aware
of a different world -
A veritable fairyland!
No other country offers quite such
A spectacle of teeming masses that
continue to enrich the heritage of mankind,
Nowhere do the past and present
coexist in more colorful promiscuity -
An incomparable country,
Easy to love, hard to forget!
"There's only one India!" raved Mark Twain,
"A wonderland of fabulous wealth
and fabulous poverty, of splendor and rags ..."
"The cradle of the human race,
The birthplace of human speech,
The mother of history,
The grandmother of legend and
The great grandmother of tradition."
This, indeed, is my country
Where I was born -
An Indian at heart,
An American in spirit!
Khuda Hafiz, Jai Ramji Ki,
OM Radhe Shyam, Sat Sri Akal,
Poem | |
"I only wish that these words could accurately paint your picture"
Mother you are the description of beauty
You’re the definition of love.
You are a precious gift sent from the heavens above.
You are mountain peaks of picture-perfect peace
You are grand valleys of valiance and virtue.
With a presence so breathtaking, that lilies bow in awe before you.
Mother you are graceful rivers of belief
and refined streams of hope
You are fabulous fountains of fidelity that so freely overflow
You are the sun’s radiance of courage.
Your inner light gleams brighter than all the stars in the sky
A sublime sparkle of strength and devotion is found in my eyes.
You are my strong tower; you’re my sanctuary of faith
Mother you are a temple of wisdom, and in your heart I’ve found my refuge,
My serene safe place
Chiquita Chiamaka Baity
Contest : 'Mother'
Sponsor: Constance La France ~ A Rambling Poet ~
Poem | |
I know Monday
I walked through your door
to see what you had in store
Everything they say about you is true
Your the movie trailer
for what the week will preview
You seem alone and brave
The weekend will hide
behind you and wave
Here we are again my friend
After today the rest of the week
will start to descend
Perfect description of you
is Blue in color
with a touch of Grey
I know you.....
I know Monday
Poem | |
Some feelings are beyond explanation
There's billions of people on earth
So why is one soul so attracted to another
Like they feel they're gonna burst
Most have surely known this feeling
At least once during their life
A feeling of an overwhelming attraction
That takes you to the highest heights
For those who haven't experienced it yet
Believe me, it's beyond description
There aren't any words in the english language
To describe it since it's very inception
So instead, let's call this amazing feeling
A four letter word known to all
It's love, pure love, that describes it best
But why say, in love we fall
To me it raises us to the highest heights
Like riding a moonbeam each night
Nothing surpasses this divine sensation
Most delightful of all delights
© Jack Ellison 2014
Poem | |
Image if one will, a field where paper roses grow,
Each color an emotion, it's variations symbolic to
Feeling felt, and yet expressed.
Compositions of love letters, shaped into delicate
Blossoms, growing or dieing within the fragile human
A unique species of floral design, enchanting the
Raw essences of it's creator, with a mystical fragrance
All it's own.
Passions spice crimson red, romantic sensuality
A white splicing with reds undertow.
Blues calming peaceful shades of hew,
and a navy's hardened edge exposing devotions
Everlasting love in beauty's open petals of the divine.
A golden sunflower opens wide, a visions friendship flower,
Seeds cast to the fertile soil beneath the kindred of humanity.
Compassion's evergreen bouquet,
So many multitudes of description,
It is impossible to describe all,
For change is the one constant rhythm
Of life itself.
Death's black rose, a crumbling love letter that melts away,
A disintegration of thoughts emotion unto the river of dust.
Not completely forgotten,
Living only by memory's remembrances,
Of past echoes,
Left alive in shadows contrasting shades faded by time.
Fragile is the human heart, made of crystal glass,
Shattering easily to the touch, if handled to roughly.
But even more delicate are the emotions held within,
A prism of reflections.
It's light leads to the inner garden of the spiritual soul,
Where the paper roses do grow.
Imaginations field of wonders, thoughts glorious
Bouquet of possibilities to draw from.
A limitless expressive well, for the poet's ink pen,
Lightly dripped onto the empty page of white,
To write upon, vivid are these roses to the poetic heart.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Poem | |
Of spring passion?
Lacerations of decadence?
coiled in ringlets at the nape of her neck-
light wrapped in strands iridescent and bent
toward her silhouette's kiss.
Shadows on a match box painting
absorbing the skin and silk shed cloth."
Frozen air movement shakes me awake
as another museum goer
brushes by my sleeve in an attempt to read
the description... (I am nose close...)
Tremendously, I pull myself away
to the Hallucinations of a Toreador
pulling the scope out on my looking glass,
for one is finely tuned, painted with the single hair of a wishing bow...
and one is the size of my heart, unraveled and sky scraped,
and yet remarkably blurred to initial understanding.
I toss aside propriety and sit down on the ground,
Indian style, in front of grandeur-
a mist of streaming people dissipating my vision
of the surreptitious melting clocks, oozing time
all over the floor, soaking my favorite shoes...
And so I pass the afternoon alive,
briefly breathing in the dusty air and DNA of genius.
Poem | |
He Drains the Liquid
From The Heavens, and Gulps It
From a Broken Cup.
15 Seconds To Start Upon Reading Contest Description.
Poem | |
She was kept in a cage on a pedestal high
for the greater part of her life.
She would oftentimes sing and perform on command
though it cut her heart like a knife.
A beauty she was and all who did see
said her charms description defied.
Yet, no one could know though her song was so strong,
how deep in her soul that she cried.
But now she is free, and flies like the bird,
that was always meant to be free.
And the songs that she sings are so precious, you see,
for she sings them only for me.
Watch the little bird fly. Hear the little bird sing.
She knows the old bridges have burned.
Yes, she was set free, it was needed, you see,
to determine if she would return.