Once, there was a
Little blue bird
That sat on the arms
Of the old weathered oak
Just outside my window.
In the mornings
It would sing to me
A song of reverie,
And in the evenings
It would return to
Bid me goodnight.
In the beginning,
I thought the little blue bird
Was rather bothersome,
For I quite enjoyed
Silence.
Then days stretched to
Weeks wove into
Months changed into
Years and one day
The little blue bird
That sat on the arms
Of the weathered old oak
Just outside my window
Stopped
Singing.
And the silence was
Deafening.
YOU ARE READING
Gin in Teacups
Random"Oh down in Albion They're black and blue But we don't talk about that Are you from 'round here? How do you do? I'd like to talk about that Talk over Gin in teacups And leaves on the lawn Violence in bus stops And the pale thin girl with eyes forlor...
