You did not fly that day - you fell down
and I lifted you up, on my palm.
You weakly pecked me, then laid down again.
Repeatedly. I stroked you,
for the first and last time.
I took you upstairs. Weeping,
I carried you gently and asked for help.
You pressed yourself onto my palm some more,
my weeps grew into a cry.
You watched me with those beady eyes
losing strength with every breath
and suddenly: you gave a last outcry,
staring at me directly - "Watch me die."
On the cage floor I laid you
And went to fetch a tissue to clean you
Yet when I came back, you were gone.
Eyes closed, stiff, horizontal,
Gone. My hysteria calms down
as I place you into a plastic bag.
You were only a birdie
but still, a life.
Now only your soulless feathered body remains.
- Augustine Wood
