Love.

So many years ago a precious bird
Flew high up to the heavens on a word.
The word was love, and she believed it so,
With all her heart and soul…She longed to go.

And so she beat her tiny, feathered wings,
With all her might, her will, her everything,
And climbed up to the highest heights above,
In search of all her dreams. In search of love.

And at ten thousand feet her tiny wings
Grew heavy… yet her heart began to sing,
In faith that she would soon begin to see
A love to outlast all eternity.

Still soaring through the air, ten thousand more,
She knew that she would find this love for sure,
So she strove ever upwards through the night,
In her anticipation of delight.

By thirty thousand feet the air grew thin,
Her heart seemed to explode from deep within,
And she could fly no further on those wings,
Or find the hope inside enough to sing.

And without hope that precious bird did fall
Soft feathers curled into a tumbling ball,
Faster than a bullet through the air,
Further than the depths of her despair…

Into a night, much darker than before
Without the light of hope on which to soar,
There fell a precious bird from heaven above,
For want of all her dreams. For want of love.