There is a bird, struggling against a squally
storm,
enfeebled, not in form.
Far, far away from the bush,
at best finds its bird’s nest.
There is a ship, lurching over a choppy sea,
forlorn, lost and wee.
Far, far away from the coast,
no way to
a safe bay?
There is a leaf, spinning around a gusty gale,
so helpless and frail.
Far, far away from the tree
and bound for the fall’s ground.
There is a pain, always checking my broken
sleep.
It makes my flesh creep.
Far, far away from my love,
waiting for the morning.