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A bird came fluttering
On my windowsill,
Cold it was
Or hungry, still
It strongly looked
Inside, into my eyes.
I knew it was the moment
To let it in.
Yet I waited
And left it out;
But a rainbow from hell,
My desire burnt me out—
That I live inside that bird,
And he live inside my heart.

Too many whys and hows,
And tell or do not tell—
To forever make sure
That all would go so well,
And the fragile shivering bird
Indulged no more in waiting,
As I did beside the hearth
Of my six thousand safe sides,
Except the only one that mattered—
The risky one out,
To grab that lonely bird.
All its blessing came to me,
And I on my windowsill,
Left him outside to hold.

As I reached out, it was too late;
Another window opened
And my bird fled away—
Like the receding waves of the sea,
Except my bird did not come back.
I tasted a bit of the cold I left it in—
The monstrous job of fluttering the wings,
With all that white death
On a killing spree for every mind.
I did not have the guts to risk at all,
And now the idea is gone.
I am back to my safe sides
Waiting for another to flutter around,
And I leave it flee away—
With too much talking,
But too little to make;
To let life go by,
Like that little bird.
I am used to letting you go;
Come my bird,
I will sing you a song!
But my bird did not want my tunes;
It craved for a new home,
And I had only words


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