Poem: Poor Bird.

Poor Bird.


We took a quiet walk today

Once more along the riverside,

Everything much the same as usual

Under a dubious winter sky.

My gaze engaged by something there

At the side of the narrow path,

Indefinable, but not expected.

I leaned in closely, to see

The wings of a large bird,

A pigeon perhaps or a dove

Lying half spread upon the ground,

Still joined by visible strings

And set with two reddish legs

With sad beseeching claws.

Everything stained with fluid yellow.



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