Bird

Legs in the air and feathers askew,
That’s what I see as I look at you.
Left on the pavement to rot all alone,
Departed to heaven, your soul has flown.

The ants have eaten and the beetles have too,
Your death has brought life to more than a few.
For life does go on in this world we call home,
The death of one means another may roam.

Poor little bird, why did you die?
Were you struck down as you tried to fly?
Your life was snatched so cruelly away,
Now your body remains to slowly decay.

Your bones will be scattered by cats in the night,
The wind will blow, make your feathers take flight.
Soon nothings left but a memory so sad,
Makes me wonder, is death really so bad?

Nobody misses the poor little bird,
Its passing has gone greatly unheard.
There is but one who’s shedding a tear,
And it rolls down my cheek, raising my fear.

Will I be forgotten when I die,
And will my memory fade into a lie.
Do we really go to heaven or hell,
Or just fall forever through a bottomless well.

I’ve come to learn from my poor feathered friend,
That one day our lives must come to an end.
No more suffering or physical pain,
For surely life is no more than a game.

Whether I win or whether I lose,
It all depends on the path I choose.
To win means I live for another day,
If I lose my soul gets buried away.

Written in 2010. Yes, this was the bird.

(C) Amy-Alex Campbell

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