I know a little birdy
Who whispers secrets in my ear.
She is blue and pretty
Only saying things I want to hear.
But I know my little birdy
Will fly, fly away
Because my little birdy
Will wither and turn dark grey.
I do not love my little birdy
All she speaks is lies
And I just cannot wait
For her to leave and take the to skies.
YOU ARE READING
They will be missed
PoetrySome die Some starve Some cry Most cut And they will be missed Some are alone Some are lost in a crowd Some yell out and moan Most do not voice their troubles aloud And they will be missed #1 Poetry #2 Random
