Every morning she rises
song on her lips as
though a bird
and takes on the day at hand
Each new minute,
new hour,
more exciting than the last
each day a new adventure
each night a pleasant coda
But every morning she’d rise
and the world would
hunt
and the birds fell
from the skies and
the minutes
the hours
all added up
La nuit est jeune
mais nous ne sommes pas
The other birds
fly on and on
some lower than the rest
and on the ground
she sets a path
while they sing
another song
The Unnecessary Blog 