There is a tiny bird
Inside my heart
That has made a nest
Of joy and love.
It cannot sing,
None has taught it to;
Its feathers are soft
Like snow and cheeks;
It has never pecked me
With its beak;
Its eyes are quick
To notice and discern
And its claws clutch
At any memory
Lost and earned;
It has little wings
Yet it cannot fly
Unless I open
The right chamber
Of my heart.
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