Upon a golden hill
Sat a golden bird
With a golden wing
Did it cry ‘bout the pain a
Broken wing’ll bring
Upon the 7th noon
Of the 7th month
Sat a fair young man.
With two fair hands
Did he halt the horse
‘Bout to break the poor bird’s bones
“Why do you look at me?”
Cried the bird near Death’s cold hands
“No good do I have within.
Behold me and weep, for I am a monster
No beauty to go with my beast.”
“I care to see you fly”
Cried the man by the bird’s lame side
“No fairer bird in want of help have ever I so spied
“Drink my love and nurture,
young bird ‘bout to die.”
“No one can ever love me” Said the bird with doubtful eyes.
“My color’s wrong, my beauty’s gone, my body isn’t fit.”
“I’ve never seen a fairer gold in such a loveless coat" Said he.
"If you don’t flit anymore, anymore
If you don’t flit anymore:
On the 7th day of the 7th month
One year next to today; you will fly again, little bird, little bird
Once more, you will love again.”