The hatchling flew out of the nest;

But the crow was watching;

She flew for just a few seconds;

She flew her very best.

That was not good enough for life.

The glistening crow swooped down

Like a swift guillotine:

His wings the slice, his beak the knife.

That was an end to her being:

A month of chirping hope,

A month of familial love,

A month of believing.

16th April, 2011
05:37 am