The Kind Old Bird Lady

Wind blows through the chimes,
They play a melody of their own,
Washing upon the one there,
Lightning the hatched hut
Of the wise old Bird Lady.

Feathers flap in the sky
And she sees the clouds,
The wind blows across her face,
The sun warming her back,
Whilst traveling for and abroad.

Flittering specks of light dust,
Fall though the soft ray
And spotlights the Bird Lady
Sitting on the dirt floor.
Hair strewn across her face,
Braided with all feathers
Her dress speckled with dirt,
Folded and lined to her body.
Chin up, she looks to heaven,
Her eyes closed in peace,
Feeling the flight of others,
Wishing it could be hers.

Birds of every multitude
Flock to the patched hut.
Making nest, raising families.
They perch on her shoulder
Chirping their tale of adventure…

Flight across the deep blue sea,
Racing the roaring waves
To the soft, sandy beaches.
High above cities and towns,
Watching flock go about life,
Ignorant of the miracle above.
Across the yellow savannah
Witnessing King Lion kill,
And Nature’s greatest storms.
The birds, rustling their feathers
Chirp and tweet and coo
As they sing their tales
Giving the Bird Lady feathers.

Each night, she watches stars
As they lullaby her to sleep,
Wishing for wings to fly.
One night, calm and serene,

A Bird Man flew to the hut.
Dressed in ancient style clothing,
And soft leather moccasins,
His wings, pure gold like sun
Fold back into an angelic ark,
Silhouetting his crown of old.
He walks over to the Bird Lady.
Whispered word, breaths of wind.
Sleeping, the Bird Lady awoke
Saw into the pureblue eyes
And flew up into the air.

Spread out from her shoulders
Was a pair of real white wings,
Full to bursting with feathers.
With a squeal of childish joy,
She flies into the dark sky,
Multitudes of birds following,
Streaming to their beloved Lady
As she start her own adventure.

The Bird Man smiles purely,
His wings of gold disappearing,
His crown, now a bright halo,
And his ancient clothes now
White pure robe and sandals.
Smiling compassionately,
He turns to view the old hut,
Swept clean of all kinds of bird.

All that was left to be seen
Was a pool of arried feathers,
And the wise old Bird Lady’s
Soft, dreaming, sleeping body
Still lying down on the bed,
In a forever peaceful sleep.