As I sit, a bird flies overhead.

I watch as he weaves in and out through the trees.
He's lost his nest, she's gone away.
In despair he swoops down and sits next to me.

Sorrowfully he chirps.
The autumn wind rustles his bright gold feathers;
who could have left this beautiful creature?

He tries once more to find her and flies to the highest tree top.
Perched on top a bear dying branch, sorrow fills his little heart;

he's realized she's gone for good.

I wonder why he's so alone,
I have a desire to call him my own.
Fly down to me, oh lovely bird.
Sing to me no more sorrowful songs.
Perch upon my shoulder, I'll take you home.

And when you sing so beautifully to me,
I'll sing along and keep you warm.