Its chirps could not be comprehended
So its wings are dirty
And sore and aching
They listened to it sing
And smiled at its song.
They marveled at its beauty.
The bird sang its melody.
And the people, ignorant,
Clapped and cheered happily.
The bird, now angered
zoomed down from its perch
and thrust its wings into the mud.
Its dragged its wing over a brick wall
painting with swift movements
like brush over a canvas
It took hours, but when it finished
The bird fell weakly to the ground
And the people stood dumbfounded
After reading the birds message
"My song is not a happy one."
YOU ARE READING
The Book of Poetry in the Back of My Cabinet
PoetryJust a bunch a poems... let's see where this goes. You should read them though, if you like poetry. They're pretty cool. Yes... I write poetry because I'm too lazy to write full stories.
