Bluebirds don’t sing in sickness
Their voices crack through hardened air—
The harshest air;
It’s on its own.
Birds don’t whisper through the stillness,
Nor fight the tides of sea.
They watch and wait;
“When will someone
Come for me?”
Come for me, through hardened air—
Call for me, though cracks can scare.
Make my day from wisdom
And not from dark
Despair.
