You will have to come to me, little bird.I cannot chase you any longer.What I have, what I am,Will have to be enough,Since to chaseFor me means death.And so, I forsake your pretty feathers.I wear my rags with dignityAnd nurture these old bones with kindness.Come close, little bird. I will not grasp you.I will not harm you any longer.Come and perch upon my fingerAnd then climb up up on my shoulder And sing your song into my earWhile I am living.Be my friend,Little bird.Do not leave me to the forestDark and wide and grim and open.I am a white man still and do not trust myselfTo the ravages of nature, but I’m trying.Be my friend, little bird,And together, perhaps,We will survive.

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