The Black Bird

One fine day, Or maybe one night, By a lake, I had drifted to sleep, When a cry tore apart the dark sky, From the edge of the night, Rose a black bird in flight. Slowly now, with his wings open wide, Slowly there, I watched him glide. Close to me, in a whisper of air, Like he fell from the sky, Then he came to rest there. He had eyes burning deep ruby red, And his feathers were black night instead. On his brow, shining bright like a flame, Was a crown of pure gold, With a blue diamond flame. With his beak, he then brushed on my cheek, In my hand, laid his neck soft and weak. It was then that I knew him once more, From the depths of the past, He’d returned as before. Tell me now, oh just take me away, Let’s go back to those far yesterdays, Like before, in my childhood dreams, Where with trembling hands We would gather star-beams. Like before, in my childhood dreams, Like before, drifting soft silver streams, Like before, we would kindle the sun, We would summon the rain, We’d make wonders as one. The black bird, with one sweep of wings, Rose again where the dark heaven sings. Four dark feathers were left in the night, Or a tear, or a gem burning bright. I was cold, there was nothing for me, He had left me alone, With my sorrow to be. One fine day, or perhaps in the night, By a lake, I had drifted from sight. When a cry tore apart the dark sky, From the edge of the night, Rose a black bird in flight.