The boughs hang bare when the winter winds blow
But the little birds sing in spite of snow.
I like to believe that I, a man,
Can do as well as a little bird can,
But you have to have faith in the rightness of things
To fling yourself out on feathers and wings,
And sing when there seems to be nothing there
But icy winds and empty air.
Little bird, fly up to the top of the tree of my mind,
And sing your song in me.
~ James Dillet Freeman
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