Sonnet # 106


Pray what is it that makes birds fly? she sought to know
I looked down upon the little one with a twinkle in her eye
A winged creature flew above, amid softly falling snow
As she turned down her curious gaze, suddenly too shy

A finger beneath her chin I placed, and lifted up her gaze
They are god’s blessed creatures, I said
She looked on, blinking, wrapped in wondrous haze
There were questions still in her tiny head, but away she was led

It was dusk, and we sat with bowls of simmering soup
Do the blessings make em fly, she mused out loud
As an injured robin came and perched upon our stoop
A cry escaped her lips, her face pallid as a shroud

All it needs is a little wind beneath its wing, I caressed the bird and said
It shook off the pain and ventured to fly high, no longer almost dead

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~ by eugenicist on April 15, 2014.

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