A little bird flew to me this morning,
on my window sill it stood .
It sang of the glorius rising sun,
and trees and flowers of the wood.
It sang to warm up the balmy air,
and greet the wonders of spring.
Its songs rang ,it was the heir
of nature, this winged thing.
The little bird flew to my window sill .
It had just flown from a stream .
It brought smells of the foam to thrill ,
as sunlight falls in the stream.
The little bird sat on my window sill .
Strong wind blew ; its feathers disarray.
I wondered if my birdie was cold ,
It flapped its wings and flew away.
My little bird flew to my window sill.
Day dawned, and cocks were crowing.
I must wait and wait for its trill,
but clouds thickened, it started raining.
A little bird came, the sun was bright,
sadly it sang , " He's gone ! He's gone ! "
Then I followed its lonely flight,
to a tree across the lawn.
By Agatha Lai
