Learning How To Fly Poem by Smoky Hoss

I thought I saw you cry
when I thought
I dreamed how to fly.
But I awoke
all alone, and found
the tears on my pillow
were only my own.

No birds at the feeder today
singing their little song.
Tis a cold winter
when everyone else has moved along.

Way up high, like a tear drop falling in the sky
is one last lonely bird of blue,
learning to fly, while learning to cry,
just like me, and just like you.

Perhaps I am after all the non-poet's poet
who's learning how to fly,
or simply a little bird falling earthbound
trying not to die...