Gray Like Mist

Gray Like Mist The bird died today. My bird. I cried for an hour. I can not cry anymore. There is no time left. I had to put her in the trash, because I had no place to bury... her small body. She had a hard life. her name, Gray... but she sang like sunshine, on every stormy day. She arrived in a bag, made of paper... and a string tied too tightly to her foot, she nearly lost. The man asked a few dollars, I could not pay him enough, to free her, from the brown prison. Home and liberated, at least the best that could be. Your feathers grew back in, you gained your color, and your voice... That is the first time you sang, and I am sad, as now you will never sing... for me again. Dear God, Is there room in heaven, for just one more, a tiny angel with feathers? As Gray needs to stay, among the happy, and sing...forever.