The Hummingbird's Cry

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The Hummingbird's Cry


The hummingbird who sings so fine,
Each tone he sang, never lost a line.
He loves to sing some songs from heart,
The music he has will never be apart.

He hums and sings and whistles all day,
From work to study and even in play.
He almost never stops to sing,
He begins and do not end like a ring.

But three storms had came his way,
Storms that might destroy his day.
The innocent bird was not prepared,
So he took all the wound, he was pained.

The first storm had approached,
His divinity was then destroyed.
He sobbed upon the lost of this,
This one noble treasure of his.

The second storm had marched it's way,
This made his fellow birds betray,
He was deeply pecked within his mind,
That he was hated, greatly grind.

The last storm was the worst of all,
For his parents took away, his wings to call.
The freedom he has was now intangible,
This made him feel invisible.

The hummingbird cried, sobbed a lot,
For he felt like he was left to rot.
So he sang the song that gave him pain.
He sang with tears and cried in vein.

Until now, the hummingbird is numb.
Like he was a floating, worthless dumb.
He still sing so great, but without emotions,
He sings so plain, without any motions.  


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Fun Fact:

This poem tells a very dark story of a person I know for the longest time ever since I was born.

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