The Song

Sing little bird sing!
for your own sake.
The sky is blue,
and my heart too,
and I pour down
on the alleys of the night,
limpid like the spring rain.
And I remain
waiting for the rainbow of dreams.
Tomorrow morning,
the fondler sun will boast
of all those pansies and apple blossoms.
And the sky is blue,
and I have the desire to fly,
the strange desire to fly.
For your own sake;
sing!