Stolen by the wings of a canary,
Soaring through clouds
And weaving through hidden canopies,
Is a song known only to the sun
And certain flowers.

Trapped, the song pleads
In early morning
And in the dusk of shadows:
"Hear me sing, O lonely forest!"
Yet no one answers her call.

Frantic, the canary ruffles her feathers,
Searching for a single ear,
One soul to hear her precious
Color held captive.

Yellow stole the canary,
Its hue seducing her,
Staining her white genesis golden
Through months of dancing
With swaying southern honeysuckle,
Chasing the setting sun,
Soaking in every sweet note
Of yellow’s orchestra.

Defeated, she finds a secluded tree
Atop a barren mountain
And sings one final time:
"Hear me sing, O lonely earth,
For I have claimed your light as mine!"
She spreads her petite wings,
Each feather a ray of sunlight.
"Hear me sing, O mighty mother,
You alone have listened..."

Then, the canary weeps,
Her tears dropping notes of yellow,
As her feathers fade to pristine white,
Unblemished by envy’s hue.
At last, she finds her own song,
Whole in its quiet truth.