The bird with the broken wing lay still on the sidewalk.
Lost.
Alone.
It needed to get up.
It needed to live.

The bird with the broken wing got on its feet.
Rising.
Defying.
It found a way to get by.
It found a way to survive.

The bird with the healing wing felt the cement underfoot
Supportive.
Real.
It shuffled on.
It shuffled along.

The bird with the healing wing saw the flowers, the trees.
Beauty.
Life.
It saw color.
It saw hope.

The bird with the healing wing hopped on the grass.
Up.
Higher.
Trying to take flight.
Trying to feel right.

Could it ever be free?

The bird with the finally healed wing flew up the tree.
To be.
Free.