She has flung the door open, the bird gazes out, slowly, ever so slowly, this caged bird stretches her tired wings, one more flight, poised to slip into the night.
Now the constant song has ceased, a lifetime of passionate performances silenced, she is preparing for her death flight. The only thing left is to hum.
There will be no more command performances, not for Kings, Presidents, Queens, nor hungry young minds, all sitting at the edge of their seats, entranced by every word and gesture.
Oh, the joy of relief and release. She arches her wings and heads for the horizon. She is majestic, as always, regal in stature.
Her smile is lighting up the sky as she hums. She hums the old death song, a song that her people sang long ago, perched on the shoulders of those gone before her.
There will be silence, a deeply profound and painful silence.
We mourn our loss, our loss of such a powerful and magnificent soul. Farewell, mother, sister, aunt, and cousin. We will walk with your words and lessons until we, too, will hum the song, arch our wings, and fly home.