Theres a bird upon the windowsill,
and his eyes are a blue like the red feathers he wears,
he gazes at me with an intent I know,
that Ive known the moment I heard him fluttering in the tree outside my door.
He wants me seeing his eyes, deep, clear,
he wants me to remember the things they have seen sitting by my window,
the loves & loss of a year gone by,
of a memory I can try so hard to bury & see every time I close my eyes.
He wants me to see the black feathers under the red,
like a shadow of passion long lost to the wind,
the music we played & the music we made singing our hearts to the world,
but just a moment and you turn away and we are left with a little red bluebird that sits on a windowsill.
