little bird

and little one, the world you hold

won't remain so fantasy pure

as twigs and strings and dizzy birds.

those sparrow tunes turn sorrowful in time,

those crows take on a beauty blue

and the in-betweens of lovely and wrong

grow difficult to decipher, as you may too.

but in this moment your auburn locks

nest right atop your sing-song head

which will fill with sticks and stones and silly words.

and little one, the world you behold is brittle,

so hold it gently.