File photo: A parrot
I have a parrot in the woods
The talking parrot squawks to the ears of an angel
But he does not make noise
The cacophony of his moan, is a call to my love
A call that demands responds and presence at all times.
In the forests, the parrot talks plenty
But only to sing a melody to an angel of substance to his master
He spends all his time to talk about my love; the love of his master
And makes the heart of them melts
Melt to the grounds of my chest.
In the rain, the parrot grumbles aloud
He calls his friends and loved ones to join him sing
To warble melodies that sends my heart to a bottomless sleep
For his voice becomes deep like the depth of a valley in the peninsula
The neck of the land where my heart begins to find itself.
But my lost heart has not been found
My parrot has always shouted aloud
The distance becomes the pain in my neck
For she still can’t hear my piercing call and my parrot is about dying of age
Whilst my grieving heart sobs in pain and tears and yells for my priceless ticket.
