You will have to come to me, little bird.
I cannot chase you any longer.
What I have, what I am,
Will have to be enough,
Since to chase
For me means death.
And so, I forsake your pretty feathers.
I wear my rags with dignity
And nurture these old bones with kindness.
Come close, little bird. I will not grasp you.
I will not harm you any longer.
Come and perch upon my finger
And then climb up up on my shoulder
And sing your song into my ear
While I am living.
Be my friend,
Little bird.
Do not leave me to the forest
Dark and wide and grim and open.
I am a white man still and do not trust myself
To the ravages of nature, but I’m trying.
Be my friend, little bird,
And together, perhaps,
We will survive.
