The little bird

There on the boat, the sailor stayed, His eyes upon a weak bird laid. It beat its wings in silent pain, No other soul around remained. He asked himself but found no way, Why flies this bird alone today? “Perhaps it left its home behind?” This thought kept cutting through his mind. But no — in truth the fault was there, The bird itself had left its care. It turned away from those it knew, And now no creature loves it too. The oars were heavy, slow, and deep, For him the waves were hard to keep. Yet like an angel, free and bright, The bird flew on in pure delight. Ah, drunken with your fleeting cheer, Don’t fool yourself, little bird, my dear. One day you’ll weep in grief and pain, Till then — goodbye, we’ll meet again.