Poem: If Grief Were a Bird

This poem is for my sister Pam. She passed away at 56 years of age.

If grief were a bird, it would not sing,
But flutter low on broken wing,
Its feathers dark, its flight uncertain,
A shadow cast behind the curtain.

It would not perch on branches high,
But rest upon the tear-filled sky,
Its song a hush, a silent plea,
A cry for things that used to be.

It would not soar through skies of blue,
But drift in clouds of somber hue,
Its wings would tremble in the breeze,
Carrying sorrow with such ease.

If grief were a bird, it would not land
Where joy and light walk hand in hand,
But settle close to hearts that ache,
A quiet weight no words can break.

Yet in its eyes, you’d see the trace
Of love that time cannot erase,
And though its flight is bound in pain,
It carries beauty, though in vain.

If grief were a bird, it would not stay,
But flutter soft and fly away,
Leaving in its flight a scar,
A memory of who we are.