Fly Above it All

The little bird sat on a slender limb, 

Upward swinging,

And though wind and rain were rough with him,

Still kept singing.

"O little bird, quick seek out your nest!"

I could not keep from calling;

"The bleak winds tear your tender breast,

Your tiny feet are falling."

"More need for song,

When things go wrong,

I was not meant for crying;

No fear for me,"

He piped with glee,

"My wings were made for flying."

- Springs in the Valley, June 9.