Saturday, September 6, 2008

Little Birds

Come! little birds at any widow
And feed from out my hand,
Mine envy oft' to you doth go.
Soaring o'er sea and land.

No pain to bear, nor care, nor woe
No chain to bind you tight,
Flying cheerfully to and fro,
In happy, playful flight.

But then again methinks it less
Than happiness I gain,
While this poor heart is in distress,
Wrapped in grief and pain.

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