-- Birds of Paradise --

John Herlihy

We think of Heaven’s glory,

And what is it that we see.

Heaven with streets of gold,

Golden bright rivers of honey.

Pure virgins with almond eyes,

Satisfaction in one’s pleasures.

Here on earth our little story,

And what is it that we see.

No one being raised from the dead,

People with cancer not being healed.

All we see is suffering and misery,

Faithlessness, treachery, lies, deceit.

We think of Heaven’s glory,

As being touched by a fairy’s wand.

Gardens with blooming flowers,

A winter wonderland without the cold.

A thousand years as a passing hour,

Always young, energetic, never old.

We think of our own little story,

As being touched by a scorpion’s sting.

Vipers with venomous poisons,

Poison ivy with its relentless itch.

Shades of darkness in night’s prism,

The worry of poverty, never enough.

We think of Heaven’s glory,

When we see the birds of paradise.

Three orange, three blue petals,

Fused together into a single bud.

Each petal makes its debut one by one,

As a tropical bird taking off into flight.

And there it is, we see it here on earth,

The bird of paradise in bloom, taking flight.

Our hearts go with it, soaring into clouds,

Seeking, ever finding, there beyond the blue of sky.

There beyond the moon, the stars, beyond the night,

To become birds of paradise in Heaven’s light.

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Copyright © John Herlihy

Thursday 28 January 2021