My Wish to the Starts I Don’t See

I wish he wasn’t a seasonal bird.
I wish he came to stay at once.
What shall I do, my mates?
Will I lock him inside my heart?
The decision to decide isn’t mine.

After all, I wanna him flying freely,
even though it feels like my happiness
is coming and going with the wind.
What a lucky man I’d be, then,
if I could rest permanently on his wings!

Yet, as the rain falls, I cry.
The solitude of waiting is harsh:
reduces me to dust, makes me die
a bit per day, when the slowly sun rises;
a bit per night, when cold lies by my side.

But even into this poorness of soul,
there is one thing to offer
I can securely ensure:
he’ll always have a warm nest,
here, into the safety of my arms.

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