Birdheart

You needn't look too far to see, Some twisted or afflicted thing, Like broken wings on a bird that sings, Its blissful melody. And then a stranger passing by, Who knows not who and knows not why, Would look upon the little bird, To point at it and sigh: "How tragic is that hapless bird, Who knows not of the joy of flight, But taken of its blessed right, By fate's most heartless err." Yet surely still its song will ring, With strength and joy atop the tree, For knew he did within his heart, That he was always free. The truth ingrained deep in his soul, That the sky was never the judge, Of whether a bird is really a bird, Or if he was ever enough. So too should we be like the brave little bird, Whom, though never flew up to the heights, Believed that no matter the season or trial, He would always be heaven's delight.