The rabbit and the bird

Once there was a little bird,

too soft to fight, too small to be heard.

It fluttered high, it sang so sweet,

with tiny wings and clumsy feet.

It loved the world with open eyes,

but feared the way the cold winds rise.

Still, it longed for something true,

a home, a place, a love that grew.

Then one day, it found a friend,

a rabbit, quiet, slow to mend.

With gentle paws and solemn gaze,

he watched the world in clouded haze.

The rabbit loved, but not with ease,

he wished to stay, yet longed to leave.

He trembled when the bird came near,

not from joy, but quiet fear.

"Teach me how to love," he said,

"But not too much—I lose my head."

"Stay with me, but not too close,

I don’t know how to hold things whole."

The bird just smiled and sang him songs,

of tender love, of nights too long.

It built a nest, it made a space,

for him to rest, for him to stay.

And for a while, they danced in light,

in fleeting joy, in borrowed nights.

But love was heavy in his chest,

and soon, he feared he'd make a mess.

"I want to want, I wish to be,

"the kind of soul that lets love free."

"But every time I try to stay,

"my heart feels trapped, I run away."

The little bird just bowed its head,

it knew too well the words he said.

It did not beg, it did not plead,

it only whispered, "Fly, be free."

And so he left, though not unkind,

a rabbit lost inside his mind.

He wished to hold, he wished to keep,

but love is hard for those who weep.

The bird still sings upon its tree,

not broken, but not truly free.

For even now, on quiet eves,

it hears his steps among the leaves.

And wonders if, in some far place,

he ever thinks about the space

where love once stayed—

where love once grew—

Where love was real, yet never seen,

a quiet truth lost in between.