The purple bird of the heart

The purple bird of the heart flies through the night.

The butterflies of the eyes flutter in the brightness

ahead of it, when they swing about in the daylight.

And yet it is the purple bird that brings them to the goal.

They rest often

but soon lift themselves up fresh for a new flight.

But when finally the purple bird rests upon a bough of Death,

weary and with heavy wings,

then they must take their last look around before they dyingly tremble.