Friday, October 24, 2014

sonnet: to a bird

little bird, what makes you sing
the same song every morn?
your chirping is a weary thing
that makes me wish i were never born

oh! life is not very long
and is devoid of much surprise
but your repetitive song
beneath the dreary morning skies

only aggravates the bleakness
of the empty yawning day
and in my helpless weakness
i just wish you would fly away

the road is long, the sky is wide
but neither of us has a place to hide

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