I am a bird,
my wings folded with the thoughts of her,
How delicate my beak .
Every crease that forms my neck is filled with the songs about her he sings.
The only thing that still holds them close is the hope of the next years Spring.
“He’ll takes me to their golden wood,”
Where once he almost lost his sanity,
Their human eyes again will meet.
Sometimes He sings songs of how
he still feels the ground under his wolf feet.
And of how her smell is still on his pillow,
From before her cold came down
Memory of candy stores, red on the snow, bathtubs, books, cold night, and warm love runs deep in his mind.
But this one thought keeps him going.
He promised to fold a thousand just like me,
So that his memories would again become their forever reality.