La Mort d'un Oiseau

With mittened hand I scooped

the glassy eyed frozen body

into a soft cradle

The tell tale feather on the

window had drawn my eye

to the stillness in the afternoon

Often in shock, a bird

can be warmed back

to life, but not now

I had waited too long,

and blamed myself

for not seeing sooner

The needles of the dark pine

gently took the
soft black feathers

Covering the small body with snow        

I knew its death came in a flash               

While searching for the light

This poem is dedicated to people around the world who value free speech and those who have lost their lives over practicing this human right.