It is not only fine feathers that make fine birds.
Eagle's flight of loneliness soars so high Around its sigh, no more alone the sky Other birds remain away, clouds pass byBetween shrouds of life and haze sun rays die
Soft feathers cannot make a cruel bird kind
Love is for the birds.Honey is for the bees.And you, my special one.Are the only one for me.
Every new dayOur children's joy is as fresh as roses,Even the birds chatter at dawn.
A bird, unable to fly, is still a bird; but a human unable to love is an inexpensive stone: like a piece of uric acid stone
The moon seems unawareof night's dark hittingon the damp warm rain misguiding owl's spitting A thunder light of loveraising hearts beatingwhile weather learns morefrom rain lovers meeting
Wings are of many kinds. Butterfly's wings, vulture's wings, eagle-wings, spread wings of white swans, dragonfly's serene wings, wings of albatross, lovely wings of humming birds, tiny wings of a fly...
Black hawk down.Black eagle up.
The man was staring directly at him now, a curious expression on his face, half smiling, half quizzical. Instantly Eager had a sense of certainty far deeper than anything he had experienced so far. "I...
If I were a flower,humming bird would be my favourite beeAnd If I were blind,the light of darkness I'd love to see