posted on Apr, 7 2016 @ 01:52 PM
Waiting for morning hanging on a tree. The little pink bird was a light night lover. As the sun filled the trees my little pink bird stood
silent. No chirp not even a birp.
All her lovely sounds and sounds could never be heard during times of sunlight. Even tiny squeaks with long blue beaks. Standing on the ground over
her land of all lands in her tree she' could see colors of leaves some red some brown. Her days work was not complete without her meek feeling about
A sandman told her to open her beak and speak. This pink bird never heard her own sounds during daylight hours. She looked at the sandman with a grace
deep looks she closed her eyes opened her beak.
Mr sandman had tears of sand gushing off his body. The sounds this pink bird sang were harmonys of her lives deepest dreams all her time alone in this
forest of life came out in a tune.
Sandman threw up his arms and lifted his long pale legs he cried and cried his own tune. The music they made turned the pink bird to not be afraid.
She flaped her wings and said good nite.
She was a gift to you a master of words. There was no bird to ever be heard. A soul traveling in the night...