Once upon a midnight dream,
I saw a bird on golden wing.
Its fiery semblance filled the sky,
Like a captive star floating by.
Its perfect flight never marred,
Brought a soft breeze unbarred.
But it smooth flight faltered,
As if its light had been put out.
A golden feather fluttered down,
As perfect and lifeless as a leaf in fall.
It shattered into ashes as it touched ground.
One by one the feathers flew,
Like snowflakes to the morning dew.
The bird struggled, helpless to fly,
But it knew, like you and I,
That it could not nor had the hope to fly,
Then, as though resigned to its fate,
It stopped moving evermore.
A fireball burst into the night,
The bird emerged renewed, enjoyed,
Fully clothed in golden plumage.
It spiraled up into the sky,
like a shooting star passing by.
No trace of that fiery bird remains
but a single golden feather floating down,
A last reminder of
Once upon a midnight dream.
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