I am a lonly little meadow lark.

I sit by the rivers edge, signing my song day in and out.
i try to sing a happy little tune, but the woos of the world are slowly turning my tune sour.
as i sit here by my running water i see my fellow larks flying away,
their wind hs come to call them to far away places.
I hear their songs, their stories of the world beyond the trees.
And i wounder where is my wind?
will i ever fly away?
will my song ever brighten.
I do try to keep my song light, but the waters seem to dround me out.
will i die here by the river, will i ever get my chance to fly.
Where is the god of the sun?
and has he passed me over.
ill keep singing my little meadow lark song, trying to keep it bright, and one day the wind will call my name, ill keep listening.