You will have to come to me, little bird.

I cannot chase you any longer.

What I have, what I am,

Will have to be enough,

Since to chase

For me means death.

And so, I forsake your pretty feathers.

I wear my rags with dignity

And nurture these old bones with kindness.

Come close, little bird. I will not grasp you.

I will not harm you any longer.

Come and perch upon my finger

And then climb up up on my shoulder 

And sing your song into my ear

While I am living.

Be my friend,

Little bird.

Do not leave me to the forest

Dark and wide and grim and open.

I am a white man still and do not trust myself

To the ravages of nature, but I’m trying.

Be my friend, little bird,

And together, perhaps,

We will survive.