Bird in a Box

                                               



                                    Bird in a Box





When I was nine and my brother was five, we placed a dead bird in a small box.

We made a flap on the side of that box, so that we could see when he went to heaven.

Each week we dug that box back up, and examined the bird for changes.

That bird just rotted more and more each week.

The day my brother died, that bird in the box came to mind.

What would become of my brother?

How soon before heaven would be his?

I placed a small box in his casket to remind him never to forget me.

This was every bit the mystery as that bird in the box was.