BIRDS
B
ehold the quiet of the morning air,
I
nvisible threads of song begin to weave
R
ising from the hollow where the sparrows grieve,
D
awn breaks open and the world learns to believe.
B
etween the branches and the bending sky,
I
n every winged heartbeat, small and free,
R
emember this: you were born to fly,
D
espite the weight of all you used to be.
B
eneath the vast cathedral of the blue,
I
n every feather lies a whispered truth
R
ise not because the world expects it of you,
D
o it for the pure and simple joy of proof.
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