A Fragile Thing

Love, like a glass bird,
Wants to try
Wants to fly
Wants to open up our eyes
To show the things kept deep inside
Love, it hates to hide
But Love, like a glass bird,
Falls so easy
Breaks so freely
Fragile glass, that makes hearts cry
Why, O why, Lord, is love made
Of glass and not of steel
Look! Love, the glass bird,
Held so dear
With much fear
They had it, kept it without care
Now broken glass is all they bare
Love, it hates to hide
So, Love, oh my glass bird
Sing you may
But you will stay
No flying free, not yet, not yet,
Almost, wait, just a little bit
Once wings stronger, only then
Love is like a glass bird
Keep it safe
Keep it near
Until its wings have grown and come,
Then let it fly, now without fear
For Love is a fragile thing

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Some recent events in my life have had my thoughts of late brooding on love, its application and its process. As my mind dwelt upon the topic, I began reviewing all the recent affairs of love in my immediate circle of friends, taking special note of their haste or lack thereof, and came to the conclusion that while love, a secret thing of the heart, strives to make itself known as soon as possible, desires above all else to be set free into the air. And yet, it is so fragile, that if one is not careful with it, it will shatter and break. Thus, and by numerous other side branches of thought on the topic, the analogy came upon me that love is like a glass bird.

While I do enjoy the first five or six lines, after that the chaos that the meter falls into I detest greatly. However, those begining lines would not leave me be until I had provided for them substantial relations and cousins enought to support them in poetic format. Afterwards, I could not bare myself to attempt a correction of the work, and so I present it here for you in its rough and unaltered state.

Good Evening,
The Author