The Bird
Dearest,
In sooth, I believe thee not to be human; methinks thou is truly a bird. With legs that stretch to the heavens, yet thine song can still be heard. Art those truly arms I see? Or wings, true, and free? Whatever the case may be, thou art the one for me. Anon my love, we shall fly away; but I beseech you, when? For my heart shall cease to flutter until I meet thee again.
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