My little wren of timid, imprisoned time, within this cage your stately tune has born the minutes, hours, days once fancied mine, of passing moments, weeks and months now worn.
You’ve sung of life and dreams, still carrying through those days when not an ear could hear your song, on mornings cold and damp with heavy dew when no captive sun could shine and darkness hung.
But should I now still hold you here, oh wren, a slave to sing the past eternally? Though by some chance tomorrow we meet again, I pray once more you’ll sing your tune for me,
For the day has come, oh bird of time, you flew
For the day has come, oh bird of time, you flew to freedom — I must welcome in the new!