The moonlight glistens off beating wings,
wings of iridescent hue.
Stars reflected in the purple streaks
and the full moon in the blue.
She flies high above the shadowed world,
nearer the heavens than earth.
Flying, always, in the moonlit night,
a lone, unusual bird.
She wings her way close to the heavens,
to hear the music of stars.
To earth she dips with songs on her beak,
melodies to lift the dark.
Companion of stars, and of the earth,
loving light, but knowing dark.
No place, no being can define her,
with her soul filled with the stars.
Perhaps no one ever told her that
all starlings fly in a crowd.
Perhaps no one bothered to tell her
starlings are dirty and loud.
Perhaps she was never informed that
starlings are a common bird,
or perhaps no one explained to her
that starlings are of no worth.
She must not have even been told that
starlings do not fly at night.
Why was she never enlightened that
starlings do not love, they fight?
Perhaps she was not aware that she
was powerless to fight the dark.
Perhaps no one ever told her that
starlings don’t fly among stars.
Her habits beyond understanding,
the dark world, in awe, must stand.
Somehow, she knew the stars could be reached,
or… the stars reached out their hand.