asks the little bird.
"Because," I say,
"they told me all these
things are real."
"Are they?"
the little bird asks.
"Who are you to ask
me such a thing?" I say.
"Why don't you ask me
why I sing?"
the little bird asks.
"What's the point?
I know why you sing," I say.
"You do?"
the little bird asks.
"Of course," I say.
"Why?"
the little bird asks.
"Instinct," I say.
"And do your instincts
tell you that these
things are real?"
the little bird asks.
". . . No," I say.
And I begin to sing.
Contributed to dVersePoets.com
Open Link Night
and in the end, wisdom...from a talking bird...smiles...sing on...
ReplyDeleteCool tale. :) Follow your own, not what "they" tell you. Only way to make your own songs.
ReplyDelete-Ravenblack
http://theotherdayplace.blogspot.com
Very interesting and sweet...
ReplyDeleteWonderful! Wisdom from a bird.
ReplyDeleteVery clever. k.
ReplyDeleteSweet... love how you have communicated profound introspection in this poetic story.
ReplyDelete