The word love
is a little bird.

It is called sparingly when two meet- for fear of exhausting the avian-
As time goes on, however, it is beckoned again, and again for it's song is too beautiful and overwhelming to have silence come between.

It becomes trapped and the silence is there.
The little bird is so weary, so overused that it simply cannot go on-
bringing it's wonderful song
you know love should fly, be free, but you cling out of desperation
and love, because of this, passes away, in heartbreak.

You fear, oh how you fear, you may never hear that glorious call again.

But, someone comes along, observing you weep
and takes it upon himself to heal your love

You can only have hope in your heart, watching your love freely fly, that someday it may grace the ears again.




(pardon the quality. had to take a pic with my phone >>