The birds know, better than we do 

How to sing 

To nest, to winter 

We, with our man made wings are always trying to be something we are not 

(g)od, if we could be, 

with our towers to heaven, 

Our face paint 

Our laughter when we are dying inside 

(It always looks like your life is wonderful)

I do not have a face that can lie anymore and sometimes it is the death of the day, the sourness 

But it took me years to learn how to cry and forgive 

It took me years to find joy in turning over the soil,

Or the way the light presses his chest up against the windowsill

 but I had to say no to many things to get here 

I always wondered why old people were always talking about birds 

Why a bluebird made my grandpa light up

(I hope he is covered in them now)

Now I understand 

There are many griefs on this earth

We can focus on them

The winters of life

Or we can find birds.