The Ant Poet Concrete

Eulogy for the Bruised Bird

           Her feathers fell       
       as she flew up and up,
Leaving her bruises and            her broken body behind.
     She’s one with the    trees she wished to sing from,
         Looking down on you from branches up high. 
 Brittle bones are made to float,
So she did.
The black night may 
have taken her too soon,
  But she’s found her place among the sun
   Time is slight and fleeting,
    A flutter then it’s gone,
        It flew away.
         She was here for her moment. 
                   She sang, she nipped, 
                               she played. 
                                     
                She lived, she died, she flew away.
                                    It's okay.

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