The Sun sets in a magenta sky.
The clouds are tinged with grey.
A lone bird songs a lullaby,
Showing other birds the way.
Its tune fills the silent night.
A pattern of sounds on repeat.
The bird doesn't take flight
Because it can't accept defeat.
It stays in the barren tree,
Waiting for someone to answer.
It longs to be free,
To flap its wings like a dancer.
But the call echos in the dark.
No bird dares repeat the call.
Neither nightingale nor lark.
So a black feather starts to gently fall.
