look at the bird
just where we left it
we loved it and lost it
just where we left it
and there it remained
withstanding the wind
crying our names
and trilling hymns
but who listens
for birds anymore?
look at its wings
ripped and loose
look at its body
withered and recluse
we left it there
and there it lies
and here we stand
with the gall to say
that we loved it
when all this time
it was dead
YOU ARE READING
pears for breakfast
Poetryliving proof that art is fluid in form ___________________________________________ a poetry anthology written in fruit juice and cheap ink ----------------------------- in loving memory of the past @timespieces copyright 2018