This poem needs help.
I sounds so...awkward.
*Sigh*
Any ideas?
Bluebirds
Bluebirds fly through a sky they cannot see,
And never know it’s wrong.
And when the clouds come overhead,
They continue in there song.
Bluebirds look up at the sky
And wonder why it rains
Because to them the sky’s not different
To them it doesn’t change.
I feel sorry for the Bluebirds,
To not see the change in weather.
To look into the sunny dew,
And not see their true feather.
They all must think their ugly birds,
And hang there heads in shame.
And they don’t know their true beauty,
Or how they live up to their name.
Aren’t we kind of like the Bluebirds?
Think the world sees through our eyes?
And never know what others think,
Because we’re trapped between the lies.
I wonder if we talked to them,
And told them what was true.
Would they see the sky’s real nature?
Would they see the color blue?
