Learning How To Fly

I thought I saw you cry when I thought I dreamed how to fly. But I awoke all alone, and found the tears on my pillow were only my own. No birds at the feeder today singing their little song. Tis a cold winter when everyone else has moved along. Way up high, like a tear drop falling in the sky is one last lonely bird of blue, learning to fly, while learning to cry, just like me, and just like you. Perhaps I am after all the non-poet's poet who's learning how to fly, or simply a little bird falling earthbound trying not to die...