There was a little birdie, as sweet as can be,

Who lived at the top of the sacred willow tree.

There was no other birdie with a heart so pure and true,

With feathers made of gold and eyes sapphire blue.

Every day the little birdie sang, and sing as it did,

Its beautiful song was carried by the wind, All the way to where it stopped,

Someplace close to my heart,

And stayed there until it died,

And once it did there I cried,

Late into the darkness of the night.

When I awoke the very next day,

I heard the song again, but distant and far away.

This time it was sad and full of sorrow,

As if the little bird had no hope for tomorrow.

And by the time the birdie stopped singing,

It's mournful song without much hope of new beginnings,

I began to think about how much life is like the little birdies song,

One moment it's a joyous tune filled with happiness and pride,

Then the next moment it's like the bird's soul died inside.

I go to bed for the night has begun to creep,

And I drift off into a dreamless sleep.