The wren
The wren lay cold in my palm
I once believed my breath
Could make him live again
Fly-off –continue on his way
I stare at his empty eye
It dries out
Sinks away
Rotten bone
In a cape of feathers
Despite belief
Will not fill again
With air
By the Corbyhawk
3 comments:
So many things we cannot fix.
Jean,
Don't you wish you could sometimes though...
-Corby
Absolutely!
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