A broken battered bird <br />limp winged and misty eyed <br />Nestled itself in the bed <br />of the grass. <br />Its dry sagging tounge <br />lay bare and burning under <br />the unforgiving sun. <br />Its wings moved ever so <br />slightly, strained and pained. <br />Grounded it just lay there, <br />accepting death, <br />waiting silently in the grass. <br />Its feathers blowing in the <br />wind. <br />From my window <br />I watched the slow death, <br />as it faded away with each <br />slow patient breath. <br />I wanted to do something, <br />wanted to give back its flight. <br />Watching death is different <br />from watching life, <br />This death seemed so peaceful. <br /> <br />Later that day, after the bird <br />had finally passed away. <br />I buried it beside the pet <br />rabbit, and fish. <br />gave it a little cross, <br />made from a cereal packet, <br />as my little boy <br />cried. <br />He nows sleeps with its feather <br />under his pillow. <br />Even in death <br />comfort can be found.<br /><br />Not Long Left<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-dead-birds-feather-offers-comfort-to-a-young-b/
