You will have to come to me, little bird.
I cannot chase you any longer. What I have, what I am, Will have to be enough, Since to chase For me means death. And so, I forsake your pretty feathers. I wear my rags with dignity And nurture these old bones with kindness. Come close, little bird. I will not grasp you. I will not harm you any longer. Come and perch upon my finger And then climb up up on my shoulder And sing your song into my ear While I am living. Be my friend, Little bird. Do not leave me to the forest Dark and wide and grim and open. I am a white man still and do not trust myself To the ravages of nature, but I’m trying. Be my friend, little bird, And together, perhaps, We will survive.
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