Little Bird

Oh, sweet little bird with the crooked wing,
Pray tell, whence did you come across the thing
That drained of you glory, power, grace
So you could land in Death's sweet embrace?

Must've been a great evil
For a thing to dare
Yea, a thing of great evil
Malice beyond compare.

Oh, dead little bird with a broken wing,
Perchance you could tell us of that thing
That smashed your hopes, your dreams, your future
Until your last wish'd been of your first suture?

And then flashing through your mind
Came a gloom that did bind
Until it did blind,
"Oh, no!" You cried, "What if it had dined
On me, 'cause I was so far behind?"

"I flitted and flew
Through skies of such blue
Not a thought crossed my mind
'Til I knew not what to do."

"That thing for which I now am dead
Struck me - lightning - for which I then bled.
Spit of the Serpent? Nay
But it was made of lead
'Twas a bullet that pierced me as a needle and thread.

Why, oh, why must the hummingbird fly?
Or the bumblebee buzz?
Or the once-alive die?
Why, oh, why do mine eyes cry
For the things that do die
And sap rain from my eye?

Sweet little bird with the crooked wing,
Please fly so free through the skies that bring
The Birds, the Bees, the Fox, the Deer
Silly bird, you have nothing to fear, your end is very, very near.

-N. C. Franz