The Tiny Bird
When through my window flew a tiny bird,
she straightway went to where she chose to roost.
I laughed because it seemed a bit absurd
her perching on my bed post! I deduced
she'd lost her way, but now that she was here,
she seemed at home. She cocked her head at me
as if she had a thing to say. No fear
did she display, no sign that she would flee.
She had the sky and trees. What could she need
inside my little room? Why did she stay?
I offered her, from open hand, a seed.
She bent and pecked at it right where it lay.
The world is huge. . . we're free! Yet what explains
that from my room now pours this bird's sweet strains?
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