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.