The Circle

I've heard the bird without feathers,

it never sings the sweetest tune

But the others can,

so what good can it do?

You see, this same bird ponders this as it starts to fly

Unaware of the boy, watching with wonder in his eyes

Slipping out of sight now, the boy begins to sit

For he was born without wings

"What good can I do?" He says, as he slowly begins to sing.