it sings it's song in a silver tone,
full of bliss, marked by desire.
it's name is love, the tiny fowl
a hypnotic song all did admire.
I used to hear, but have since been deafened
notes gone awry, fate did contort
the bird, the prey. and hate the hunter
a tune, a life, a hope cut short.
1 comment:
You are a wonderful poet. Your words are so delicately powerful.
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