This noon, letting hearse be a long shovel, I walked Chick slowly to the garden back; and where I'd cleared a bramble, in black earth dug shallow grave, interred the bird, by forget-me-not's newest colony, under full-laden hawthorn swoon, found stone about the place and set it there with pats o' the shovel. So. That's that.
In any bloody fall is there a providence? 'The same as in a birth,' the answer came. 'You tell me where you were before your dawn. I'll tell you where you'll be through dark's cold door.'
And so I leave to fantasists Theology and such; philosophers can wrangle with identities. Earth to earth. Well Kid, it was a short, sharp life; but you were so well loved by mum and dad.
The very least, I see I'll have some pears this year; the evidence swells out in fours up there.
Today the blue sky haze can't dim a ray; I think, first time this year, I must sunscreen.
Now there's the father singing once again and may their nest be filled with sky-blue eggs.
................................ *The story follows on from the previous post. This pic is a library pic from Wiki.
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