The Thorn Birds

Long Ago, there was a bird who sang just once in its life.
From the moment it left its nest, it searched for a thorn tree.
and it never rested until it found one.
Then it began to sing more sweetly
than any other creature on the face of the earth.
And singing, it impaled its breast on the longest, sharpest thorn.
But as it was dying, it rose above its own agony
to out-sing the lark and the nightingale.
The thorn bird pays its life for that one song
and the whole world stills to listen
and God, in His heaven ~smiles.
As its best was bought only at the cost of great pain.
Driven to the thorn, with no knowledge of the dying to come.
But when we press the thorn to our breast,
We know........
We understand.....
And still......we do it.

Have you heard this beautiful poem? It seems to say it all...........

Do not stand at my grave and weep,

I am not there, I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.

I am the diamond glint on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain.

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you wake in the morning hush,

I am the swift, uplifting rush.

Of quiet birds in circling flight.

I am the soft starlight at night.

Do not stand at my grave and weep.

I am not there, I do not sleep.

Do not stand at my grave and cry.

I am not there, I did not die!

Text by Mary Frye