A Thoughtful Thirty: An Angel's Wisdom

The first time I wrote,

A little bird sang this note.

It sang it loud,

Boy, that bird sang it proud.

It sang to me

What it meant to be

My own person,

Even if things worsen.

“Skies will darken and gray,

But most pass in a day.

Don’t let things burden you,

For you are of a unique few.”

“To be able to shine

When weeds thicken your vine,

That is a true blessing

In which you are possessing.”

“Never go unheard

Or leave your words slurred,

For they hold almighty power

Which others beg to devour.”

I said to the birdie,

“Here is a thoughtful thirty:

To tell a story,

To sing a song,

For fish named Dory,

For teaching right and wrong,

To give hope,

To drive others,

For a wider scope,

For sisters and for brothers,

To voice my opinion,

To give new insight,

For my malicious minion,

For someone’s pure delight,

To help those hurting,

To mend broken hearts,

For words needing blurting,

For showiness of smarts,

To gain peace of mind,

To break out of the coop,

For thoughts commonly left behind,

For those out of the loop,

To take the reign,

To catch a break,

For practicing my brain,

For uncovering a fake,

To establish a name,

To create my own,

For everything but fame,

And for that daily drone.”

As I recited my reasons,

The birdie was silent.

It gave no hint of treason;

No expressions were violent.

The bird finally shook its head

As I recited the last line.

“Only twenty eight were said,”

Was his greedy whine.

I gave the bird a wink

And said I was aware.

“Do not dare to think

All my secrets are worth a share.”

That little birdie thought in its head,

The writer never mentioned a smile,

Nor had the writer once said

Writing was simply his style.

At that same time,

It came to his realization,

That writer had such a rhyme

And held such ratification.

The bird realized what he saw in his mind

Was an angel, so wise and brave,

Sending thoughts he left behind,

Thoughts not worth keeping under-grave.