by Guila Manchester

Perhaps somewhere the gates are swinging open
And a tiny pair of wings is flying through.
And your little feathered body
Lying limp within my hands
Is free from all the harm
That man can do.

Don't try to find your supper by walking in the road.
It's simply not the place
For you to be.
You waited just a bit too long for flying;
The driver didn't care
Or didn't see.

Don't try to get the berries on the bushes.
They may be coated well
With poison spray.
Don't try to stick your head through rings of plastic,
For if you're caught
You cannot get away.

Don't go into a yard where there are children,
For some of them
Think sticks and stones are fun.
And some will walk away and leave you bleeding
For they have learned the "sport"
Of use a gun.

Don't try to build your nest in someone's flowers.
They may not want the bother it could bring.
Sometimes they'll take a nest
And simply throw it on the ground
Your baby birds
May never live to sing.

I'd like to see a world that made you welcome.
I'd like to help God's creatures live;
Instead I watch them die.
I hold your broken body lying limp within my hands
And something deep inside me

Return to Poetry

** Fair Use Notice**
This document may contain copyrighted material, use of which has not been specifically authorized by the copyright owners. I believe that this not-for-profit, educational use on the Web constitutes a fair use of the copyrighted material (as provided for in section 107 of the US Copyright Law). If you wish to use this copyrighted material for purposes of your own that go beyond fair use, you must obtain permission from the copyright owner.

Home Page




Your comments and inquiries are welcome

This site is hosted and maintained by:
The Mary T. and Frank L. Hoffman Family Foundation
Thank you for visiting

Since date.gif (991 bytes)