You're still warm.
As I reflect on you
Laid in the crux of my hand.
I can still feel you there,
Eyes at rest, unmoving.
"Poor little mite" I coo,
As I unceremoniously
Scoop you up into a plastic sack.
Sweet little thing,
I hope you sleep soundly
Upon a wreath of clouds so downy.
Even in death, how resplendent are you!
Your neck ruff so regal
In purple-green hues.
Your feathers appear soft, but I daren't touch.
Lest I desecrate you in your new rest.
Sweet dreams, small being.
I hope your end was not violent, although
I suppose that doesn't matter now.
May you have peace in your next life, and all those thereafter.
Rest in peace, little pigeon.
YOU ARE READING
Random Poetry
ŞiirPREVIOUSLY TITLED "WOLF POETRY". Come, indulge in these poems I have written. They come from the heart.
