Songbird

It is early morning, and it is quiet, too quiet. The rambunctious bird won't even utter a chirp. Once resoundingly loud, her voice like a siren, Now you're lucky to find her softly humming at all. Once seeking passion, the bird now searches for silence, In hopes, the trees and leaves will drown out her absence of sound. A false hummingbird, she masquerades in muted tones, Her once vibrant voice reduced to vibrations. Perhaps she flew too close to the sun, as this songbird lost her song, Her nostalgic melodies traded for the flap of her wing, as she was already gone.