The Bird.

I saw a bird fly past my windowsill,
'Twas green and grey and tinted by the sun.
Now where I saw it fly this bird lies still
And in its pain I see its fight is done.
So as I sit and watch the sun set here
And shadows come to drench the bird in death
The people stare in sadness for its drear
Then they think on why here was its last breath.
Yet must we look upon this bird with gloom?
It sees the sun around us move each day.
Its life was dark and meek we could assume,
But with its death, life's thoughts were blown away.
This mangled body, sprawled for all to watch
Is upon our hearts a dark, concealed blotch.