When did the bluebird's song become something so different?

So sad and hollow.

Was it the day I looked into your window and found it empty?

Dark and covered with Spider's breath.

Was it that night, when the road was dark?

Alone and frightened, in need of your light.

Or was it that morning I found the letter

And something more unfamiliar than a foreign language

Lurked in the corner.

Perhaps it was none of these.

Do you suppose the song is still the same?

Falling, instead on deaf ears.

My eyes tell me that a bluebird is the same creature it always was.

And what I always hope it will be.

So what causes that bluebird to seem so strange?

It's hue, not so bright as it once was.

It's eyes dull, more like stones than pools of light.

It's flight from branch to branch a monotonous act

And not a spectacle of nature.

I think we know why the bluebird's song has changed.

It is our secret.

But sometimes secrets weigh on our souls like heavy coats in August.

Our secret was this:

My heart once was full of song, songs of love, life, and happiness.

And tucked away, under arteries and veins, I had a song for you.

And this song was my own little secret, shared with only one person.

The bluebird.

And my song became part of the bluebird, my heart akin with his.

And as my heart sang my songs of life and love and our times together.

He sang as well, waking me up so I could make more music.

But sometime, in-between the empty window, the dark road, and your letter from "home"

My song grew softer and softer.

And as I waited to see you once more, my music box died.

Along with the bluebird.