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Rated: E · Poetry · Death · #2112071
An amalgamation of thoughts about one of my most treasured friends.
Of all the pets I've had I remember one most clear.
A bird with feathers grey and a colour most rare.
I'd let him out of his home when I was alone, he'd be slow to emerge.
I remember. He'd climb to the top of his cage and wait for me with claw ready for the climb.
He'd peck of course, like playful nibbles that'd cull a reaction.
With sound in song my bird would play, I'd mimic of course with shoddy whistles.
This was sung for years, to my ears and to the walls.
To my surprise, a day came when he changed his tune. A song with single notes, long pauses between.
He played his last. There. In his cage.
I listened close. So close. I did.
I cried.
I was close. He was cold.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2112071