I’m as free as a bird’s wing
nailed to the ground.
I’m as light as a feather
weighed down.
Coat me in lead, I’m a statue –
I will nest among the gold leaf,
small and brown.
Blue. Blue. Blue.
They say there are lakes
you can’t see across.
They say it’s the place
birds go to be lost,
but I believe
there’s a shore and a reward
for those willing to fly the course.
Blue. Blue. Blue.
Happy as a lark
without a laugh.
Boundless as the sky
held inside a glass.
A Pinocchio thrush
wishing on a fairy star,
to be real is all I ask –
And blue. Blue. Blue.
At night from the shelves
voices in the dark
tell me to stop dreaming,
and learn to love what I’ve got,
but I believe
I can soar – wasn’t I born for it?
Or was I not?
Blue. Blue. Blue.
Birds fly.
Birds fly.
Why, oh why
can’t I?
© Heather Lloyd.
written by Heather Lloyd – arranged by ilyAIMY.