Saved

A broken-winged bird perches on a loosely thin birch, watching peacefully the sunset and the milky pink clouds. The breast heaves in and out, and the beak lets out a shout squealing chirps for a help before the crumbling of the birch. A broken-winged bird flashes of early memories that passes since it cracked from egg in the homey nest on a roof-top. And it falls! Crippled but a live. There's no life that it can strive, but I take it in a little shoe box, feed it often before it heals. I'd like to see that bird to fly, across the silken, velvet sky. Keep it closely to my heart, as savior for a newer start.