When I dance,
its with the butterfly
fluttering in
the morning air
zig-zagging with the music of the dawn.

When I laugh,
it's with the dead leaves
gliding in
the Harmattan
as they rustle and frolic in a flock.

When I sing,
it's with the songbird
whistling through
the frigid night
of things that move his little heart.

But when I cry, I cry alone,
and wait until,
the clouds give way,
and the butterfly, songbird, leaves
come out to play.