The little bird sat on the branch,
Its feathers dull and drab.
It chirped a mournful tune,
and glanced Around at the world so sad.
The sky above was grey and drear,
The trees were bleak and bare.
The little bird had little cheer,
And felt so lost and rare.
It thought of all the things it lacked,
Of joy and love and fun.
It felt so small and unattached,
In a world so cold and numb.
But then it saw a tiny sprout,
Pushing up through the ground.
And suddenly it felt a shout,
Of hope that it had found.
For if a tiny plant could grow,
Amidst the dismal earth,
Then maybe there was room to know,
A happiness and mirth.
The little bird began to sing,
A brighter note than before.
It felt a stir of hopeful spring,
And a joy it could explore.
So let us learn from this small bird,
That even in the gloom,
There’s always room to find a word,
Of cheer that can illume.
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