\"Has she been freed?\"
Cried the bluebird.
For he, was not sure.
And his wings yet to be healed
Unable to figure if he should
Sing with joy;
or saudade
And rise, he did;
Upto the highest branch
With wings on each sides
The little bird took off.
There she was,
A tiny glimpse -
With her pretty feathers
shining in the moonlight
\"She\'s Beautiful\"
The little bird thought, as he laid down
In his own pool of blood.