![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkZKOFMJsOCN4BK7p4aXbaiGcgvRgYBWNpiutucjM2hB1WG1iZcs1s1CyzeNOLcmTEF7MLU70-hhvwXK0EDcG3kD0ejk-KdDWo-UZo0FiK_87ZzazsaGm5Yjt2DN9qjt5dDF2FYEj9zRU/s400/hydrangea.jpg)
A tiny statue holds a tiny bird
Who used to speak and he was heard
Immortalized in grey-white stone
He flew away and left my home
I bid goodbye, revisit pain
And long to hear his song again
But I am sad without his tune
And will some day regard his room
Another bird might take his place
To give new song, poetic grace
So I will look to find the one
That gives me warmth, returning fun
Time will move as I research
A feathered love to end my search
The hunt involves the life I live
To help me know what I can give
~the new beloved
Who used to speak and he was heard
Immortalized in grey-white stone
He flew away and left my home
I bid goodbye, revisit pain
And long to hear his song again
But I am sad without his tune
And will some day regard his room
Another bird might take his place
To give new song, poetic grace
So I will look to find the one
That gives me warmth, returning fun
Time will move as I research
A feathered love to end my search
The hunt involves the life I live
To help me know what I can give
~the new beloved
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