A Little Bird Can Fly
The rain is finally over
As the sky begins to clear
A cold wind hugs the mountains
Trying to hold the morning near,
Greyhounds run on asphalt ribbons
To where ambitions need to be
To fulfill those dreams and wishes
The world will someday see.
Guitar strings and finger tips
Will let the music flow
A fiddle is just a hunk of wood
Without the strings and bow.
So climb aboard that diesel dog
And ride away from here
Into a world of challenges
Strong enough to face your fears.
You’re racing to the future
That will soon become the past
Like searching for some Holy Grail
In the questions that you ask.
Well the answers in a lesson
Learned by all to few,
Life isn’t what you’re running from,
Its what you’re running too.
There’s sadness in a silence
That will almost make you cry
As the young embrace the future
And the old ones say goodbye
Left with the satisfaction
A little bird can fly.
Fred Steele © 2003
Authors Note: I wrote this poem for a granddaughter who
was leaving us to go back to the Prairie. She later turned it
into a song while with the indie group Scenery In Stereo
Laura Artus has become a first class musician in her own right.