Inconsequentially Small Robin

Blue feathers blown in the snow,

A poof of nonexistence dotted with red.

Its ending so pitiful its remnants so sweet.

It was its mother, the robin’s mother,

Only meant to nuture, to someday teach flight,

Pushed out of the nest, at a too tender age

Now the child robin’s dead, without any more life.

Blue feathers painted into the snow,

The mother bird simply brushes off her hands,

And chirps off to her next destination.

Reviews

[Tai Chi Italy]

Aww! This is such an exquisitely tender and yet savage read. Great read! Wondering if you are still fluttering, Tai