Sunday
started with the usual noise
Of
breakfast pans, and other things
But over
the whirr of their daily life
They all
could hear a Canary sing
Grandpa
rushed to get his Bird Book
He always
forgets the names, you know,
Dad rushed
to get his phone on portrait,
With the
smarter, older brother in tow
Mom had
things to do,
Or she
always thought so,
Why, now if
she starts watching birds,
She’d
really have to let things go!
The three
year old, with his feathery feet
Climbed on
the chair, without scaring it away
He watched
it flutter its yellow wings
And heard
the song that came his way
Just moments
later, everybody was back
But the
bird was fickle, it was on its way
So they
thought the tiny three year old
Must have
scared the bird away
The little
boy doesn’t know the name
And he is too naive to care about those things,
But every
day, he draws a little yellow bird
While just
like it, he tries to sing.
