Dead Bird.A Poem by MHMy cat prefers my mother.
There is a graveyard of gifts outside my Mothers door,
the feathered wrappings matted and askew, the contents spill out through white ribs, hollow eyes, emaciated, it stared forward. We didn't ask for these but she was happy to bring them. © 2016 MHAuthor's Note
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5 Reviews Added on July 31, 2016 Last Updated on August 17, 2016 Related WritingPeople who liked this story also liked..
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