There is a bird in my brain
I have yet to name
A nest of woven twigs
Where she has laid her young
Where are they now
When spring is almost done
Sister to pelican and dove
Come back when those have gone
Give me back my wings
What good is a heart that cannot fly
Endlessly toward what it loves
But whenever I approach the nest
She flutters off so fast
I barely catch a glimpse
Of her pale breast
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