Tuesday, July 21, 2015

A Dead bird

Red Headed Woodpecker
©2015 Rolland G. Smith

I heard a thump and knew the worst.
A bird had struck my windowpane.
The morning sun’s reflection’s curse
Did guide a flight that was in vein.

With tuft of red upon her head
And black and white and yellowed plumes
She lay so still. Her life now dead.
Her nature gone. Her flight entombed.

I picked her up so lite in weight
And gave a loving soft caress.
Her fatal flight a saddened fate.
I hoped she passed without duress.

I wondered if the ALL did know
And was the spirit bird alive?
Were all its colors now aglow?

And were there angels at her side?

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