A sea-gull with a broken wing, <br />I found upon the kelp-strewn shore. <br />It sprawled and gasped; I sighed: "Poor thing! <br />I fear your flying days are o'er; <br />Sad victim of a savage gun, <br />So ends your soaring in the sun." <br /> <br />I only wanted to be kind; <br />Its icy legs I gently caught, <br />Thinking its fracture I might bind, <br />But fiercely in its fear it fought; <br />Till guessing that I meant no ill, <br />It glared and gaped, but lay quite still. <br /> <br />I took it home and gave it food, <br />And nursed its wing day after day. <br />Alas for my solicitude, <br />It would not eat, but pined away. <br />And so at last with tender hands <br />I took it to its native sands. <br />"I'll leave it where its kindred are," <br />I thought, "And maybe they will cheer <br />And comfort it": I watched afar, <br />I saw them wheeling swiftly near. . . . <br />Awhile they hovered overhead, <br />Then darted down and - stabbed it dead. <br /> <br />When agonized is human breath, <br />And there's of living not a chance, <br />Could it not be that gentle death <br />Might mean divine deliverance? <br />Might it not seep into our skulls <br />To be as merciful as gulls?<br /><br />Robert William Service<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/euthansia/
