This bird with broken wings
Is cradled in my hands
And lies as still as death
Against my aching breast.
Its heart is soft and slow,
Perhaps in peaceful sleep
With dreams as bright as life
Of flying towards the sun.
Perhaps it can forget
The sticks that broke its wings,
The hands that dealt the blows,
The eyes that turned away.
I hold it, share its pain,
And seek the proper way
To help this broken bird
Arise and fly again.
Image credit: Gaming 4JC, from Wikimedia Commons, under a Creative Commons License.
Very beautiful. I bet in the sky above you're known as the guardian of birds.
ReplyDeleteWow, thank you! I am not sure about that, but I love birds and certainly try to do what I can to help them out. (Trust me, they give me much more than I give them.)
ReplyDelete