Y.S.T.

There once was a bird
who never was heard
but always had something to say.
Up in the clouds, she flew higher
than the rest
and to the few who saw her,
she was regarded as the best.
Her feathers were dark
a sad little lark,
She was an instrument no one could play.

One day as she flew high above
the Sound,
she noticed the others as they were playing around
They reverberated from the ground,
those bright melodies below
and up up up
those puffy white notes did go.
She looked to the sky
and began to cry
at the love that resounded from where the flowers did grow.

So this little lark,
she cut off her wings
and rested happily on the grass
hoping and praying that gravity would allow
these terrible feelings to pass.
Never again would the bird have to
look down,
never again would she have to frown,
and love, for the bird,
would be a warm and fluttery sound.

But watching others take flight
soaring above and discovering her secret heights
was much harder than she knew.
Gravity was a prison
to this petite wingless pigeon
and this little bird knew
what she must do.

Later that evening, while the birds were in flight
a most beautiful melody bled softly
into the inky night.
And sure enough, a peculiar sound wave gained height:
a faint ripple with two dark wings
ever so slight.

A little chick looked to his ma:
"What's that sound coming from the bay?"

"Oh, that little lark," his ma did say,
"I always knew that she would fly away."