Who Knew

Who knew the little bird would grow wings And fly over the legendary kings Now the flying bird in the air swings His sparkling coloured wings. Who knew the little bird would learn to sing Songs of beautiful tunes and rhymes His had been lamenting ballads Cursing Maryland plantations But see how the singing bird sings Of books, suits and wines. Who knew the little bird would learn to feel The sickness, tiredness and coldness His had been cracking the rocks With unquestionable willingness. And who knew the little bird would fear not to perch Upon every tall tree tops after long search For which it’s little nest would beautifully hang It, had been in the dark quiet cave But see how its young ones come singing From New York trimmed vegetation.