A dying bird
Cupped, in my palms
Why it lived, mated
Built, frenzied nest of
straw
Twigs;" rags, so fated
to die, a vicious searing end
Tender wisp of down
On throat, splayed toes
Song on beak, lost, all lost
In last lingering throes
So much given, to be taken
Before the end of song
All that is left, sign of its life
The dismal cries of its young.