I bent my knee in aspen grove
All hope near lost ‘n gone,
And nothing in that ashen cove
Would hint of warm or dawn.
I heard my voice entreat for breath,
Like desperation heard,
Perhaps more hurt that felt near death,
But then alit a bird.

With plume of ivory, blue, and gray
Coal eyes looked straight thru me,
The little bird seemed want to say,
That all is good to be.
The bobbing head and open beak,
Like hints of coming ease.
Oh, that the bird could to me speak,
And all my burdens cease.

Days, weeks, and months, and years passed by
As black turned into gray.
The hurt and pain drew back and I,
I oft returned to pray.
Back to the grove and to the birds,
And to the memories,
And in my mind back to the words,
Said by us in those trees.

That bobbing head seems wiser now.
All’s bright and white and clear,
One must think back and wonder how
The little bird so dear,
Was there to comfort when in need
I knelt among those trees.
And now I know what I must do
When others are on knees.

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