Perched
on a high branch,
The
bird felt gravity;
Dreading
the winter
The
unknown far South
And
departure from her Beloved.
Must
I follow the herd,
Runaway
from the cold,
And
go to a warm place,
Only
to return when everything is all right?
How
does that make
Me
loyal, faithful?
I
will not betray you,
I
will stay here
Even
if it kills me.
Death
must come to all,
It’s
how we all end.
I’d
rather die in your arms,
Than
on my way away
From
You and Your warmth.
No
matter how dreadful
Your
winter might be;
No
matter how cold
You
may be to me;
Your
heart’s warmth,
Your
soul’s radiance,
Cannot
be hidden from me.
I
will remain perched
On
this high branch
And
stand by You
In
your frigid weather.
I’ll
be here, Always.
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