In sadness it is as if the bird has lost its love for winds, he sits near, and stays there.

In happiness it is a creature, who has never learned to land, fierce and fleeting in its flight.

And while I sit here happy, a little afraid and insecure, I ponder, missing my old friend, bird and time.

Much as I will grow weary of her, if she returned, to me in kind sadness, alone again.