What's In the Box
A perfect bird takes flight on yellow wings
Dipped in golden sunbeams from pure light
Crimson days are etched with feathers pointed
Darting in and out of dangling limbs of trees
Made possible only by a gust of steady wind
On borrowed time through opened arms of love
Stretching out for miles on tomorrows time
Songs echo in the forest on the softer side
Birds sing there is no sorrow without sin
The Paraclete is no ordinary creature
It figures to be settled in by Christmas
Into a Trinity with all the trimmings living
When Christmas comes there is a pretty box
Nestled under the tree with lights and ornaments
Colorful wrapping with movement coming from inside
Outside is snow, below the bow is action
We pray that someone made some holes
For breathing is important for living things with souls
Bring plenty of towels and water in case of birth
Is that a chirp or something with a song of hope
If it is perfect can we keep it
If it has feathers should we let it go
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