Bluebird.

I saw her first when she was sitting
in the branches of the willow tree.
Her plumage was soft and shining,
her song was bright and free.
I called to her, "Dear Bluebird!
Why do you sing so long and high?"
She replied, "I like to rest here
and watch the world go passing by."
I knew I could not follow her,
this bird in sunlight crowned,
so I asked if she would join me;
sit a while here, on the ground.
She came at my call, the beauty,
soon she was perching on my hand.
She described to me the joys of the sky;
I told her the woes of the land.
I wrote her a song, this bird of mine,
I wrote her a love-letter true.
I told her there was no voice like hers
and birds of her beauty few.
We would meet at the foot of the willow
and sing a soft harmony,
but my notes were always so heavy,
while hers were light and free.
So at times our songs would differ
and it was hard to see who was right.
But I brought her a new kind of comfort
and she brought me such light.
Then one day she said she was leaving.
I knelt and begged her to stay,
"Can't you see how much this hurts me
for you to leave this way?"
I believe she knew my sorrow,
but all she said when I asked her why
was, "Don't judge me, I'm a Bluebird, remember?
I am built to fly.
I cannot stay, my dear one,
and you cannot follow me."
Then off she flew and left me kneeling
at the foot of the willow tree.