The bird still sings
Outside your room.
In the tree which I never saw bloom,
And have not dared to see again,
The bird still cries out,
Protesting darkness like an eager soul
Or a child too alive for dreaming.
Awake I swear I hear him,
Even though he is too far away,
And I smile
Because he is alive.
And I sit and listen to him,
Until dawn breaks through the rooftops.