Thursday, September 8, 2011

FOR A BIRD - by Myra Cohn Livingstone




Bon samedi





I found him lying near the tree;
I folded up his wings.
Oh, little bird,
You never heard
The song the summer sings.
I wrapped him in a shirt I wore
                         in winter;
it was blue.
Oh, little bird,
You never heard
The song I sang to you.