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
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