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Bird Grief Poems | Bird Poems About Grief

These Bird Grief poems are examples of Bird poems about Grief. These are the best examples of Bird Grief poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Free verse |

Myna Bird Solace

There they were, in the center of
our asphalt cul-de-sac street
circled around their dead companion,
four common myna birds, holding
their own semblance of a funeral.
I slowly backed out of my driveway
and passed by them in quiet reverie.
They didn't attempt to fly away or
even move as I passed by them.
Tears flooded my eyes as I realized
how much they were deeply grieving.
Their friend was truly loved and grieved
as we'd grieve the loss of a loved one.
Later on when I returned home the 
dead bird was gone, and so were they.

© Connie Marcum Wong

Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2017

Details | Personification |

'Little Sparrow'

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”—Psalm 34:18 New International Version (NIV)

Little sparrow, what troubles thee;
      is it the stigma you face?
Little sparrow, what pierces thee;
      is it the shame of disgrace?

Is it the brokenness in your heart, 
     or the sorrows you can't outlive?
Is it the anguish that sets you apart, 
     or the hurt that holds you captive? 

What befalls you 
      is neither unfelt nor unknown;
God cares and calls you
      when you're cast out and all alone. 

God will never forsake you
     in your time of need;
God will never permit you
     to suffer or bleed.

02/19/2014; for "TO HEAL A HEART" Contest


Copyright © Ngoc Nguyen | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |

The Grief of Crows

Soaring above the bushfire's flames,
astounded crows, blacker than charred
tree trunks, flap spectral wings.

Numb with loss, no caws drone out.
Wind rushes in updrafts from
the smoky heat: to rise as a vengeful spirit,
to hammer at fleeing pinions,
to witness aimless circles above coal black trees,
now absent of rough stick nests.

Suzanne Delaney

Copyright © Suzanne Delaney | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |

A Tale Of Two Turkeys

Poor Thomas Turkey,
Alone in his pen.
Sits solemn and scared,
For they 'did in' his hen.
They took her off Sunday,
Then snuffed out her life.
And now he's alone,
Cause they've eaten his wife.
Thanksgiving now over,
He preens with relief.
He can muster a gobble,
Along with his grief.
He pecks round his pen,
For some 'scratch' sprinkled there.
Grows quite happy again,
Not remotely aware . . 
That Christmas is coming
For family and friend,
And for Christmas, at dinner;
They'll eat turkey again.

© 2015 Diane Lefebvre

Copyright © Diane Lefebvre | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme |


Oh sea of love!
How bitter the mem'ries I have!
This place reminisce the pain
Of not seeing my love again.

Your birds up high
Remind me of his goodbye.
Your water so deep
Makes me yearn and weep.

So let your breeze blow,
And dry the tears that flow.
Let your waves take away
The griefs and sorrows that stay.

Oh sea of love!
Erase the mem'ries I have!
Wash them out of the blue,
Take them away with you.

Copyright © Flora Mae Gudez | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |

''Little bird, what troubles thee''

Little bird, what troubles thee
      is it the worm in your belly
little bird, what pains thee
      is it the worm of misery

is it the bitterness in your heart, 
     or the offense you can't forgive
is it the anguish that sets you apart, 
     or the hurt that holds you captive 
is it the cancer of bitter love, 
     or the loss of deserved affection 
is it the cruel withdrawal of 
     his tenderness and compassion 

life is much too brief
      and youthful love's even briefer still,
your forestalled relief 
      keeps you from seeing His eternal will

what befalls you 
      is neither unshared nor a mystery
God sheds His tears for you
      in the midst of your painful agony

little bird, what troubles thee
      is it the worm in your belly
little bird, what pains thee
      is it the bane of misery

Copyright © Ngoc Nguyen | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |

Oh to be a Humble Sparrow

Oh how I wish I was a humble sparrow
So cheerful and so free
Flying high through the sky
Instead of living in hell in constant fear
In a barbedwire cage
Waiting to die.

''Let us not forget not only the Jews, but the Gypsy's,Jehovah's witnesses, political opponents, homosexuals, Russians, disabled, the elderly,children, and sick, anti Nazi's and more. To forget all or any of these groups of people, would be a crime in it'self, and undervalues their suffering and existence. Let the truth be told, we must never forget.''

Peter Dome. Copyright.2015.June.

Copyright © Peter Dome | Year Posted 2015

Details | Verse |



Hummingbird soar with your tiny might
Great red fuchsias  are at bloom again
Red purity so beguiling a call so bright
Brings you forth to carry your aim
To help propagate new life next spring
Nature's awakening call will always 'ring'
….©didee Verse
Diane M Quinlan
Artist & Poet

Copyright © Diane M Quinlan | Year Posted 2015

Details | I do not know? |

Demise of the Frail and Assail of the Skies

The bird wanted to fly

But the wind wanted to blow

“Rest now bird”, said the wind

“You now take it down slow,

And let me flow.”


The bird accepted thinking it was a request,

And ignored the proud in his words,

She sat down on the branch to rest,

Keeping down her guards,

Unaware of what is next.


An hour passed,

But still the wind didn’t stop,

Now the pace became fast,

Now the wind gone, in place was the storm.


Unable to stand against it,

The bird felt helpless.

The emergence of automatic persuasion,

Left the bird in stress.


Her home is not the ground,

She lives in the sky,

Feeling gloomy and bound,

She doesn’t even try to fly.


She stays where she was,

And starts envying the wind,

The kind of power he has,

That brought down even the born free.

Flying is what she loves,

And the feeling of spreading the wings,

Something that cannot be expressed in words,

The beauty can only be felt within,

But when the storm persists on blowing,

The persuasion reminded the bird of a cage.

The feeling of being trapped,

Even turned down the sage,

Within the bird and now a panic engulfed,

Because everything was happening against her will,

And the storm and his manic laugh,

Harassing and shrill,

Dominating over the world with his power.


 Now there is water added,

Pouring everywhere from the sky,

So hard that the vision blurry and fade,

The bird now wants to hide.

And so she trusts the woods,

Under the leaves she takes shelter,

Hoping the safe place could,

Understand and help the helpless her.

But today even the trees are of no help,

The rain is too heavy,

No matter where she hides,

Towards her somehow it will glide.


A day passed but still the storm wasn’t satisfied,

He kept on blowing,

Kept dominating the little with pride,

But the bird was now over sorrowing,

So, she decided to challenge the flowing.


And it seemed like years had passed,

Since the bird took a flight,

Into the blue and those effects that lasted,

Of serenity, luxury and rights.


Now the tolerance was coming to an end,

Her loud chirping of frustration speaks,

And so she comes out of the safe place and,

Into the grey she leaps.


It’s like, she dares the storm,

Even though she knows it’s futile,

The proud in him confirms,

That the end could be brutal.

But the little now doesn’t care,

She just wants to fly.


The storm does see the bird’s hindrance,

But would not understand the heart,

He will do what he wants,

That is what he is doing from the start.

He will choose when to come,

His wish no one can predict,

When his fun will become,

A thing getting vapid,

He’ll spare the imploring planet.



The rain can be the reason of someone’s laughter,

It can also make one morose.

The torrent of pouring water,

Is also something he does.

If his will says,

It’ll be a shower of delight.

If he wants it to be the other way,

It can become an element of fright.


Now after going a mile,

The bird is in terror,

Still the storm being hostile,

And the bird being the bearer.


Though she is tired,

But hasn’t lost all hopes,

And so with eyes like angel she desired,

The thoughts of good and optimism.

But when she looked up with faith,

And saw the grey sky,

She fatigue and her pale breath,

But still she flies.


“Stubborn she is no less”,

Thinks the storm, and now he the outrageous,

Losing his charge on the rage,

The sky shines a red that’s vicious.

Then from somewhere a lightning bolt,

Suddenly strikes before the bird,

While she runs from the jolt,

Several others in her surround appeared.

She moves carefully,

But the storm is furious,

And he would not stop,

Until he becomes victorious.


Then a surprising tremor ripples,

Through her and little’s every part stops,

Down the bird with rush tumbles,

With eyes full of teardrops,

And her vision turns grey,

But did she lose the fray?


As the bird, hit the soil,

She remembered a life,

A life that never once gave her the turmoil,

But always love in rife.

Also a light that the bird saw,

When she first opened her eyes,

Now got vacuumed,

Leaving behind the blackness of demise.


The storm witnessed the whole saga,

But still he won’t remorse,

A beautiful little lay dead down,

Sometime else, again a creature would morose,

Because the nefarious never bows.

Copyright © Tuisha Sircar | Year Posted 2013

Details | Verse |

Canary in the Coal Mine

Caged in shadows
the canary breathes
amidst the clutter and din
of coal miners
who toil to extract
from veins underground
fortunes told
with its demise
too late for those who seek
fresh air and light
as families above ground
gather and wait
under a pale sun
for news
they feel in their veins
will come.

Copyright © Mike Bayles | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |

The Bird that is Loved and Loathed

It burns and it stings.
It hurts.
More than drowning beneath 
the ice.
More than remaining in a 
kindled flame
She hits and I no longer cry.
Why mother, why? 

It burned and it stung.
The markings remained, 
returned, and were relived
Looking, loving, and little 
known loathing were the known 
ways of living.
Never was their pity for the 
child that cried
Never was their relief for the 
child that tried

You were that lovely bird that 
understood the complications of 
Nothing looked the same in 
those dewy browns of yours.
My everbeating would cry tears 
of joy.
The others-they were yet to 
Caring Mother, o' so fair
 You were that beautiful bird 
filled with care.

The others came and were not 
alone. Their two suitors sat on 
the throne.
Rampage and rage why did you 
I began to wither and wither 
slumping along. So very soon I-
the child of fines- became a 
human raceme. 
The droops of the Lily of the 
Valley became the slumping of 
my heart.
My lovely bird the enemy had 
taken you and the person you 
were is far from near.
For that divine nature left its 
intricate self and you became 
irretrievable my big bird.
All of your fairness died.
With that went my pride.
Mother, Mother what moved 
you so? 
Your intense spirt vanished only 
to supplement a monster. 
Mother, Monster and your tar 
filled lungs. 
How did I kill that liver that was 
so, so strong?
The lesson of pain was one you 
came to learn.
My darling bird why did you 
My lovely bird and your big 
brown eyes
I'll tell you once, but never 
Pain is only a flower for it 
blooms and dies
And a mistake can be killed as 
quickly as lice.
 You dear bird hurt me well. 
Though, haven't you heard?
Weakness is a souls greatest 
You brought me up, then you 
brought me down.
You haved helped, hurt, and 
hindered my blazing spirit.
A hero in my heart-I left you 
down in your deep black 
Escaping those terrible nights
To go for the town of delights. 

Copyright © Layla Elkoulily | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |

Hungry Thief

For the first time ever,
a Cardinal's nest lay cleverly hidden
in a juncture of two branches
of the red rose climber
on the south wall of our garage.

Over the years, we'd watched with pleasure
as House Finches, Eastern Phoebe,
Bluebirds, and Wrens nested in flowerpots,
birdhouses, spruce trees, and on porch walls.
Purple Martins snootily passed us by
in spite of elaborate housing provided.
Once, a Rufous-sided Towhee deposited
her eggs on the ground, underneath
a large cedar tree near the driveway.
We mowed around them, shooed turtles 
toward distant woods, and watched 
eggs hatch, babies fly into the future.

Cardinal babes were a new and welcome
experience. Almost daily, we peeked.
But grief came quickly with eagle eye, 
hooked talon, and razor-edged beak.
A Cooper's Hawk left a shattered nest, 
a mother's heart ripped apart, and us,
feeling her pain to the marrow of our bones.

Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |

Broken Heart Wing Bird

Broken-Heart-Wing Bird
Alone On Limb, So Scared
Lost The Skill To Fly
& Will To Live or Try
(Watch The Raindrops Cry)

Broken-Heart-Wing Bird
O' Have You Not Heard?
The Wind's Song Sung For You? ...
Across The Sky It Blew
(Lifting Higher Hopes Anew)

Broken-Heart-Wing Bird
ONE, Calling You Has Cared
Keeps You Safe From Harm
Caressed & Sheltered From The Storms
(Your Broken-Heart-Wing Form)

Broken-Heart-Wing Bird
Be Not Dismal Nor Deterred
If On Harsh Land, You're Grounded
JAH Will Float You On Faith Well-Founded
(in Aerial-Miracles Heaven's Son Surmounted)

Broken-Heart-Wing Bird
Beauty-Vision Be Not Blurred
If Confined To Empty-Nests
Take Twigs of Time To Conquer Tests
(and Let Broken-Heart-Wing Rest)

... Gain Strength, Wisdom & Wit
Eagle-Span, Horizon's Width
Let Beating In Breast Be Stirred
Get Better, Broken-Heart-Wing Bird
(GOD's Tree of Life For You Is Shared)

Stretch Your Feathers To The Sun
"Trust" Is A Light-Flight, Bidding "Come!"
and Love Is The Soaring, Wonder-Word
That Heals All Broken-Heart-Wing Birds
(Even From Death's Cages - We're Set Free & Spurred)

So Find Those Behind Dark Bars & Buried
Tell Aviaries Everywhere How You Were Carried!
Upon The Path - Straight & Narrow
Thru Your Single,  Sorrow-Arrow
(as A Broken-Heart-Wing Sparrow) ...

'Til The Broken-Heart-Wing Bird
Could Soar Again - Superb! ...

             Written & Copyrighted ©: 10/08/2012 
                         by:  MoonBee Canady

Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2013

Details | Tanka |

Lark Tanka

A week old hatchling
The mother lark feeds with love
White clouds come above
Sudden tempest ruins all
Solar eclipse in lark town
May 25, 2016
For Traditional Tanka - Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Charlotte Jade Puddifoot

Copyright © Probir Gupta | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |

Cuckoo Chick Little

A cuckoo chick little, cute very little 
awoke from a dream, but not very peaceful. 
He shivered in fear recalling the warning 
by mother crow kind about his shrill cuckooing. 
She promised him that the training of his voice   
would make him caw and he would feel rejoice. 
Fear of torture made him try a silly attempt 
not knowing that it would make him just repent.
A herald’s call of caw for a sudden attack 
kept war heroes ready without any setback. 
This tempted cuckoo chick to try a sudden flight; 
the rest I can't say because it’s a sorry sight.  

Copyright © Newton Ranaweera | Year Posted 2017

Details | Narrative |

Nightingale Wiothout a Tongue

have you ever heard a song 
sung pitifully by a tongue-less nightingale 
vomiting blood on a treetop bathed in the moonlight
the soft sound softer than the moonlight
the clear sound clearer than the early morning dew; 
even constantly chattering water pauses for a moment
to listen her enchanting song more attractive than the sirens’ 

she was once roaming around the sky above Leibethra at night,
she sang a requiem with her flawless clear voice 
calling and gathering to comfort the soul 
that was torn to pieces and dumped in a river, 

now she is trying to tell her bitter and resentful story,
and how her tongue was cut off but with her hoarse voice; 
it’s unintelligible like Cassandra’s prophesy, an entangled skein of thread never able to undo, it sounds hollow like an echo from mouth of a cave that can never be understood     

the nightingale’s low moan of despair
is the scar that never goes away, and when this scar
becomes a terrible pain. unbearable, the nightingale,
as if moonlight covering a passing cloud, flies away 
abandoning the branch

 Note. Nightingale: Philomela   

Copyright © Su Ben | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |

the birds with soulless eyes

old man feeding the birds
he stands slightly bent as he casts
down the bits of bread
that the birds milling around his feet
devour with soulless eyes
he casts each piece like a sacrament
like an uttered prayer
his large brown coat soiled by winter
now hangs on his springtime frame

old man with his bag in hand
walks slowly along the fence line
the rubber of his shoe squeaking like a
small animal
he is amused by the thought
he feeds the birds once again
after all that is what old men do
they die slowly and they feed birds
they walk in silence like a tomb
casting bread upon the waters
like a prayer

old man feeding the birds
what old man dose not dream of younger women
what old man dose not wish he was young again
so the birds feed upon his dying wish
with soulless eyes
watch him walk into the city of night
with nothing but his loaf of bread
and a newspaper full of yesterdays stories
walking the fence line between heaven and hell
on his way to feed the birds

Copyright © mark junor | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |

Il Fiore Della Bruma P4

Mr. Visage of the manor, was often regarded in the highest esteem.
He lived in direct centre of the valley
Lauded his walls with fine antiques and trinkets;
Gold plated vases of crushed ice
Refilled by the hour.
Ebony perfumes
Travelling in thick cloud, like a rich fog of delight
Or marvel atleast.
His walls were only thin bamboo,
And he visited the villagers regularly.
Ofcourse, they privately grumbled of his accommodation
And obsessive nature to present, even perform at times.
Yet he was quite the life amongst them
They would none but laugh and smile in his presence.
Only laugh and smile.

Mr. Visage was a tapestry of pride
A great man in many respects.
Maybe he enjoyed his success too much,
But in person still,
He was a good man amongst the valley.

“This Family is a secret dysfunction;
Alone in all but volume.
Pray for the beauty of the elegant bird.
These wonders I have homed
From a tropic desolation,
Here to see and be seen
In the total view of the prominent.
Perfection of Asia, Africa, bizarre and prize
Drawn together by infinite work:
Pray for the beauty of the elegant bird.

Uneclipsed, I dive
Capsuling grace in a midnight charm
With a stare so ready to flicker
And dissolve the empty rooms.
What will happen to my attraction
Once I depart?”

 The Mr. Visage wept
For the bird that flew
And Mr. Visage would never depart. 

If there's anyone that's actually been reading all these parts, this one is by far the most obscure, probably looks pretty poor without it making sense but it does, particularly when in comparison with part 2 and 3

Copyright © Aiden Asoll | Year Posted 2013

Details | Imagism |

The hour between night and day

You are here.
in the tree outside
my window.
in twilight silver leaves, 
the silent red hawk 
hungry, waiting
for the mouse, just now hidden
in the brush.
You are here
in the amber light
of sunset
in the tender hour
between day and night
patient, waiting
as the mouse lifts its grey head
You are here,
in moonlit shadow,
a memory
of talons and beak
fierce love and sorrow
hungry, waiting

Copyright © Kate sparks | Year Posted 2017

Details | Free verse |

When A Sparrow Falls

When a sparrow falls
Do the other birds notice?
Do they search for you in vain
As they wonder at your fate?

Do your feathered brethren mourn
As I do inside when I discover
Your tiny, spent, lifeless form
Discarded there in the gutter
Of an oblivious and uncaring city?

Will any living creature remember
Your sweet, happy songs
And your little birdie desires
And your charming little
As you tried your best to survive?

In grieving for you, perhaps
I also take pity on myself
Or, more properly, on my own
Slowly fading physical form.

But then again,
Perhaps my sadness arises
From a wish to follow you there
Into a freer, happier world.

Though our mortal forms must perish
Our truest selves shall always persist.
Even as Time weeps for Its departed
Eternity rejoices in their return.

Copyright © Roderick Molasar | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme |

One bird doesn't make Spring

friends don't stop asking why i don't when for the words the will is lost when the price they give, don't cost but, pain and energy to the utmost and then they ask whether i would when for the rhyme i need a mood while here in the town life is crude no one knows, to live more if i could i need to give my pen a breath and on a paper ,i spit my wrath i need a feeling soft not math when you lost the blood it's death i need the moutain to be strong i need the fountain, oh , how i long ! i need to hear the twitter of bird in the deep woods, there, is my world the words don't come easy as before they hurt the head and the heart's sore they need a bird to twitter the rhyme and a soft breeze to tune a time if you have Spring here i don't sing if you have butterflies, here no wing if you have roses, i have thorns if yours sings, here my bird mourns it's not fair when fate is wrong and the pit with worms throng and the days for others are nights and the nights for them are darks to the world i say this word you don't have to be poet with word you have to be human with a feel if you don't have that, yourself* Kill*
To my friends with my regards to *Silent One* maiinly.

Copyright © Lonely Shepherd | Year Posted 2016

Details | Quatrain |


What malodorous substance do you use,
to cover the lies you tell?
Do you not even notice now, 
the way it  gives off a smell?
It corrupts  everything you touch,
it poisons  the very air.
Wilts away  all the  new life, 
til only  the   old is there.
Friends once caught in conversation,
 can now only hear burnt words.
 Only falsely spoken cries from
fallen dying birds.
I want so badly  to believe again,
 that the words you say are  true,
in this apocalyptic wasteland, though, 
the most distorted thing  is you.

Copyright © Jeanette Woods | Year Posted 2016

Details | Dizain |

Transient Jasmine

I knew jasmine that you won’t stay for long Love is always a transient crimson cloud Rain robs it of all its bud-blooming song The silence is too deep to cry aloud Just day dreams under a painful grey shroud Lovely touches too don’t come to stay on Nor the thrush when its breast is in frisson Now the spine in spin as dimples cave in A little later all the larks are gone Empty rib cage of the bore lungs within __________________________________________________________ 01/09/2016: For the contest Dizain Poem II sponsored by Laura Loo Ten syllables in each line checked with www.howmanysyllables.com

Copyright © Probir Gupta | Year Posted 2016

Details | Sonnet |

Underneath the Ivy

Where does the green and grey path travel to
Laden with the hushed love and numbing pain
The dark sky descends to join the weird blue
Whispering in the ears of deep breath lane

Does it lead to the concealed yet green grace
Beneath headstones of the bones in silence
Can you listen my dear pale green Cypress
Can we look just once through your mystic lens

Stark lone tombstones surrounded by close vine
Rare footfalls with the boquets of love breath
For blue shades that once dwelt in now still mind
Now reduced to nothingness underneath

Rest in peace, when the leave bird will call me
Underneath the ivy I will join thee
For the contest Overgrown with Vines 
Sponsored by Broken Wings

Copyright © Probir Gupta | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |


Lights in dark,
a turning plough,
tube of tin and roar

with faces in a
box, high above
cold woods, streams and fields

and real life.Sinews below
rest and frim,
eyes turn to heaven

to the prison of
bad air, mocked angel,
packed life.

And should they
fall from the sky;
there is a kinship in distress.

Copyright © Leslie Philibert | Year Posted 2015

Details | Verse |

Even the angels wept

That wound left on my porch,
that red that made me shiver
was the baby robin which fell
from the nest in the corner.

Stared at the ball of flesh with horror 
Unable to discern or stir, I stood—
Rooted to the cement,
with stumps made of oak wood.

Those beads of eyes permanently shut, 
the lines of claws, the buds of nascent wings 
which could not catch any wind
the hint of a beak never held a twig.

The tiny pink blob, to Earth I returned,					
but left the red for the sky to stare
hoping that the angels wept
to bring the clouds to rain,
and wash the sinned stain.

Written 05/02/2016

Copyright © Sara Chansarkar | Year Posted 2016

Details | Blank verse |

Destination of Two Birds

Two birds flying high up
In the infinite blue sky
Asked I
Where are you going?
What is your destination?
They replied
We want to go far
In the resignation
Away from the world of man
Bad company 
Leads to a bad destiny
We wish we are not infected
With the inhuman traits
That human being
Has invented
We want to live in the world
Of love and affection
All truthful sensation
Faithful determination
Heartful compassion
Away from the envy, hatred,
Betrayal, selfishness,
Cunningness and temptation
If constant dropping
Wears the stone away
How can we save our
Soft loving hearts
From hellish decay
In the world 
Where everyone knows
His interest best
Our feelings cannot rest
We will enjoy our being
Where there is no trace
Of a human being

Copyright © V P Mahur | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |

The Bird Of Happiness

I'm standing on a street called Life;
It has many branches here and there,
I don't understand which road to travel,
I don't know which road has been waiting for me.
As far as my eyes go, I look through;
I see everyone on earth is skeptical like me,
From which way they can catch the happy birds,
Where they will get unlimited happiness?
After a lot of thinking, I started my journey with a road,
I have met many people in the street,
I have not seen anyone say that, 'I got happiness here',
Everybody seems to be in unrest.
Actually there is no absolute happiness anywhere in this world,
Those may be happy who has less demand or greedyness,
I have to move a little further,
Although I don't know how long will remain my motivation.

Copyright © Md Shahadat Hossain | Year Posted 2017