She was an injured bird who warned you.
Falling from a tree at tender age,
A wound that made her full of bitter rage.
Beautiful, with energy to fly
Alas that fall had sentenced her to die.
Wingless, flightless and now meaningless.
Just a body, handicapped devoid of essence.
Instead of healing, you augment the wound,
Instead of love, your manner is so crude,
Instead of sending for a healing vet,
Instead of comforting, you just forget,
Her former flight – imprisoned in a cage.
Excited to posses this Bird of Paradise
You asked her – “Why for me no sing? ”
“How can I sing without my flight or wing? ”
“I’ll neither sing nor wear you love's ring ”
“I’ll never be your little Turtle Dove! ”
Alas still bewitched by beauty – YOU NEVER ASK WHY?
19/06/09
Beauty Philosophy
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-injured-bird/
