My Feathered Friend

As the dark night passes, the beauty of the dawn adorns
And ere it brightens up my room, there comes my feathered friend
With a beautiful chirping song, small yet loud, adorned with but all in browns
And perched on my window sill, she plays her melodies as if life has no end

I can't but remain still and mesmerized in the beauty of her song
Shrewd yet pleasing, I know not her language but there's a message strong
She sings of a song, a song of a bird, a song of a hardship, a song of a life
A song that every singer sings, songs of love, agonies and of impending strife

And as the glory of the morning attracts wider but dubious audience
She knows she has but a life to fend and a living to make, and thus her song fades
Her tiny legs combing her feathered crown, she admonishes every bit of her ambience
Singing low and in broken syllables, she takes leave, flying away far amidst the shades

I know not where she lives or what she does the whole day long
But there she is, every morning to greet me and sing me a song!