Sweet little birds
Whispered in my ears
Wake up
The sun is shinning
It's brightness
Washed the sleep from my face
On this clear day
I woked with grace
I heard no birds singing
They were with me
I smelled not, the scent
Of the roses, I grow
Outside my window scene
There was no morning dew at twilight
Just like my tearless eyes
No tears running
On old salty tracks, on my face
The birds whispered
You know what I heard?
It was written In the past,
That in your youth
You resembled a Greek God
Now in the winds of change
The winds blow in another direction
Nothing is written in these winds
Just an unfortunate scene
The birds giggled, one even blushed
Saying
Now you resemble, Homer Simpson.


By: William Bonilla
05/13/05
Written on my Birthday