This is reblogged from https://thefeatheredsleepcom.wordpress.com/ Sometimes a poetic soul speaks so evocatively you cannot help but hear…
People didn’t care
Just like with the Nightingale
The dead bird outside Starbucks
Didn’t warrant consideration
His feathers mottled by hot pavement
I felt
Bad I hadn’t noticed at first
But I’d been watching you walk
And recalling the depth of your coffee eyes
Whom of us lovers, has time
For dead birds
Finally a man thinks he’s brave to kick
Feathered corpse off to the side
Indicative of these times
I thought of the Happy Prince
Giving away his gold and jewel eyes
Enlisting a little bird to pluck
His riches to give to the poor
How I read that in school sitting
Elbow to elbow with sloe eyed kids who
Scratched their dry elbows raw
And the very same week we came across a dead bird
Its grave still beneath the weeping willow
Fastened by a Palm Sunday cross we’d kept unbroken in a book
Where children learn…
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