And Bluebirds Fly

Bluebird, is your tune blue, too?

Song-licked sky painted in your view. 

Mosaic sound, colored freedom profound, 

Though cracks in trees uproot holy ground. 

Sing bittersweet in morning flight,

When sun breaches the darkened night. 

Blue bird, black sky, 

Wings too broken now to fly.

Color me a bright depressed, 

At your message, laid to rest. 

Give your piece when peace is gone, 

Reaped your seeds now, coming home. 

Feathers dust in early breeze, 

Disguised behind the rustling leaves. 

Why is it that you hide away?

Might you fear the mocking jay? 

From high above, you seek the fall,

Do you sing back when brethren call?

Rotten branches hold you still, 

Though your tune warns of the kill.

Blue bird, black sky, 

Wings too broken now to fly.

Color me a bright depressed, 

At your message, laid to rest. 

Give your piece when peace is gone, 

Reaped your seeds now, coming home. 

Early morning, make your case, 

How deserv-ed are you of its haste? 

Wake to the tune of a bluebird’s might, 

To shoulder the burden of daylight.

On wing or foot, on beak or feather,  

Weighted bodies bound together.

Why change the sound of that mourning coo,

If all you will ever be is blue?