A Storm, The Bird, And Me

The storm , unexpectedly, came crashing in,
And I was born, into love, yes, into poverty, certainly, but into,
Happiness.

Grief showed it's ugly head, when my father died, so suddenly,
But this little boy was a little soldier and had an imagination army.

Games I played, and invented, stories I made, and frequented;
Lands faraway, with a pen, and a brush,
And toys secondhand, in a garden; a fantasy in mud.

School was hard, yes, school was tough,
Where I grew up, on an Island, kids played rough,
And I witnessed violence, and I witnessed sickness, and bullying,
And worst of all; collective silence.

And then a little bird came to visit me,
It was the sweetest thing you could possibly,
Have ever heard, or ever seen,
She was all the colour of light and life, and the Storm inside her raged so strong and so very bright.

But I knew this little bird would fly on, because she was so beautiful and young, and had a whole world to discover;
The race of life to be run, and won.

So I lost my little bird, and was sad for so very long,
But on early mornings, and late at night, when I am alone,
I hear that little birds sweet song.