Preaching to the choir. (I didn't name it)

There was a sparrow,
who much like Icarus,
flew too close.
But her vice of choice,
was not the sun.

Rather, she flew too close,
to those
whose only wish
was to bring her harm.

Time and time again,
she'd fly too close.
And they'd steal
her tiny speckled feathers.

She liked the thrill,
but the feathers
on her fragile wings,
grew few and far between.

A constant reminder
of the traps she'd set,
it was self-inflicted
and entirely detrimental.

And with the loss,
her beauty faded.
and all that had set her apart
dissipated.
Like her tiny speckled feathers.