There’s a flutter in my heart
There’s a beating of the wings
There’s a pecking at my brittle and
over-played heart-strings.
I toss and turn, prepare my nest
Prepare for an absolute absence of rest
And how is that so?
When you would always go?

Some people flip the pillow
I slide to the other side
It’s always cool, and absent you
and now the distance multiplied.
Some will dream of flying
But this dream’s inside my heart
My soaring love caged up
Oh, a most-imprisoned lark.

I’m too sore to soar
but if lift, I had more
Pocket copy of Westphalian
Glide across the Med’terranean
But eyes fixed to the ceiling
I know I’ll always have this feeling
And how were I to know?
A little birdy tells me so.