A small bird once spoke to me,
And asked how come I could fly,
Higher than itself.

I smiled and answered,
"Love gives you beautiful white wings".

The bird sang to me, and left,
To seek the white wings of love.

Two years passed. And I saw none other.
I realized my own truth.

And when the bird came back,
With the white wings.
It could see that I flew higher,
Again.

"How can you fly even higher?"
It spoke in despair,
And I saw that its wings were now white.

Hate and knowledge that you are not loved,
Give you pitch-black wings,
And make you suffer every time you use them.

The bird did not sing to me this time,
But turned away and flew as fast as it could.

I cannot blame it.
There is no compassion for the wicked.