FalconChristmas
No words describe a heart so sore in need of love, to be so glad a bird’s alive and living in the shades of time. She still comes when eye call her but my whistle is a paroday not a shrill bird call and yet somehow she knoes me and comes out from her warm place to dip her wings and glide in happiness with Jesus in her heart. She went from tree to tree flirting with the eye, staying close to the trail eye always use on SUNDAY morn. So wonderful a bird not even fully grown in fact eye mistook her for a yearling perhaps her offspring eye thought it was her daughter there, come to visit mee a new and thoughtful creature but she was only closing up her tail feathers to mabe keep her warmer in the cold of Christmas Winter there was frost out in the Desert. She looked so much larger on the wing Spreading all her feathers she must knoe it makes my heart sing to see her safe and dry. A Bitter Colder Better Christmas Warmer now and closer to Nirvana. A Falcon Christmas. Still Alive.
No words describe a heart so sore in need of love, to be so glad a bird’s alive and living in the shades of time. She still comes when eye call her but my whistle is a paroday not a shrill bird call and yet somehow she knoes me and comes out from her warm place to dip her wings and glide in happiness with Jesus in her heart. She went from tree to tree flirting with the eye, staying close to the trail eye always use on SUNDAY morn. So wonderful a bird not even fully grown in fact eye mistook her for a yearling perhaps her offspring eye thought it was her daughter there, come to visit mee a new and thoughtful creature but she was only closing up her tail feathers to mabe keep her warmer in the cold of Christmas Winter there was frost out in the Desert. She looked so much larger on the wing Spreading all her feathers she must knoe it makes my heart sing to see her safe and dry. A Bitter Colder Better Christmas Warmer now and closer to Nirvana. A Falcon Christmas. Still Alive.
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