IF I WERE A BIRD
see that bird in the tree?
poor fellow stopped too soon you see.
wouldn’t be there if i were he,
’cause he’s in the city.
the fumes of gas and glaring glass,
stand for things that won’t last.
screeching tires and honking horns pierce his ears,
aging him beyond his years.
i guess that bird hasn’t heard that city life isn’t free,
that martin houses aren’t the place to be.
if i were a bird i’d fly for miles,
whistling a tune all the while.
looking for an aspen tree,
and a lovely, serene, mountain stream
that caresses the rocks and grass,
with beauty that forever lasts.
and look at the flowers dancing in the breeze,
i would see that, from my aspen tree.
welcoming the morning is the crystal sky,
and sun so bright it burns your eye.
just a little bird whose happiness would fill the sea,
that would be me.
so, it’s sad to see that bird up there,
hiding his face from the glitter and glare.
I’ll bet he doesn’t know you see,
he picked the wrong tree.