There Was A Bird

There was a bird, I saw
On the windowsill the other day.
It was blue, I remember, the lightest possible shade;
Its beak black as night, and eyes full, righteous and unbiased.
A darker hue ran along the girth of its small back,
Wide at first, then at the tail collapsing;
Its feathers were wet from the rain outside.

Dreamily I looked on,
At its silvery silhouette, its petite largeness
Its clear, cloudy eyes.

For a second, it stood still
Then the next it shook, with graceful vigour,
And little droplets of water fell on the pale marble floor.

It looked staight into my eyes a moment after,
With its eyes full, righteous and unbiased.
And then swiftly off the windowsill, it flew away.

And I watched it fly away, from the corner of my eye.
I saw its lustrous wings in flight;
Its silver silhouette as it became obsolete,
Wondering where it went.

And in a while, came another bird,
It too sat down on the windowsill.

And Dreamily, I looked on,
At the edge of its beak sharp as a knife,
Its solemn eyes dotted with yellow;
The magnificent red on its feathers fondling with a gravely back.

X-x-X