Nature.

A bird is still
A bird though
Her wing be broken.
She will not suddenly
Become a serpent
Because she cannot fly.
The gentle nature within
Will not corrupt
Though it be driven
Into hiding spaces
In places only shades
Dare to go.
Though she may pretend
To be content with
Skipping about on
Feet never meant for
Walking, she will soon
Return to her high
Spaces when given time;
For all do mend and
Heal and return to their
Nature true in God’s
Due time.
A bird is still
A bird though she may
Not sing – whether t’is
From injury or grief for
Her beloved sky.
She’ll dream of singing
Songs anew, soon as
Strength returns
And she takes flight.
One who’s made of
Love and light
Will always return
True to form – despite
All false belief
And cloudy sight;
We are but vessels
Toting stardust
Through the night.

speak.

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