Little Birdie and Swan

There is a door, adorned with webs and dust. Haunted by debris and rust.

Unsettling as it is, someone will enter. They’ll peek through the hole in the center.

Once through it, there’ll be a wall. Impossibly thick, and preposterously tall.

But someone will scale it, using the cracks for support. They’ll somehow reach the top, and coming down will seem short.

This stranger didn’t break it, didn’t change it. So had he asked, the fortress would have split.

He took his next steps, now there is a damp, cold, dark cave. After burning the door, and bombing the wall, most people here aren’t so brave.

He smiles so bright it lights up the place. He finds it kind of cozy, he found a safe space.

He dances to the drips pelting the floor. Where others saw rocks, he knew it to be precious ore.

Deeper and deeper, he wanders further on. As poignant as this cavern is, he dives into it like a swan.

There he finds a girl, as atmospheric as the journey. He was still a swan, and he knew he’d found his little birdie.

He didn’t mind the treacherous trek to find the girl. He found a secret, precious thing, his secret, precious pearl.