The Little Bird

If only the little bird were wiser,

His beak would not stretch bars,

He would try to pick the lock,

And never give up.

If he tried,

His dream would come true

He'd be free to soar

And never bow to the wind

The little bird would just fly

To the high mountains

And if a flock of birds were to come,

He would find good friends

Sometimes this flock of birds flies over me,

And in their sight I'm in awe.

All I can think of:

It must be good to fly free

Above the grey clouds of smoke,

And the flock.

There's the little bird

Who's in mourning now.

Komoróczy Gréta XII.H