Song Bird

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When I was 9 or 10, I had a serious conscience attack
That caused me to think about hunting birds I did track.
This poem describes some of my personal feelings
And how with my sensitive self, I ended up dealing.

 

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Song Bird

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One time I shot a little bird right out of an elm tree.
It fell out and hit the hard ground right beside me.
His blood was running from him to the ground.
I touched his body, but he lay there with no sound.

 

 

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I wondered why I had killed this sweet little bird
That sang fine songs, as fine as any I have heard,
And flew through the air with the greatest of ease.
I asked The Lord to bring him back to life, please.

 

 

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But he just laid there without even a small twitch,
I wondered if I could help him as he lay in the ditch.
I felt real bad and my conscience it really did hurt,
This pretty little colorful bird would no longer chirp.

 

 

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I looked into the tree and I could see a female like him
With three baby birds in a nest so very neat and trim.
I thought, what have I done, this birds got a big family.
And his babies are waiting for him to bring food, you see.

 

 

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This made me feel ten times worse than I did before,
And I wondered what the babies now had in store.
Will they starve and fall to the ground from the nest,
Or will they just be eaten by some mean hungry pest.

 

 

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The birds mate was flittering and chirping a whole lot
As if she knew that her life companion had been shot.
I whistled a nice tune to try to calm her down some
But she just flew down and pecked me on the dome.

 

 

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My head it did hurt from the pecks from the bird lady
But I could understand she was just a bit crazy
From her bird mate loss so I decided not to retaliate.
I think she was suffering from a big old heartache.

 

 

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I looked on the ground and saw the male bird move.
Could it be he had survived with some help from above?
He shook his head and fluffed his ruffled feathers.
The glancing blow from the stone he had weathered.

 

 

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After a minute, he flew off chirping into the clear blue sky.
I smiled happily and then waved to him a good goodbye.
I felt so good that every square inch of my body tingled.
It was a miracle and with his joyous family he remingled.

 

 

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Now I had to decide what to do about this catastrophe,
I took my slingshot and I broke it right across my knee.
Never again did I shoot a cute little innocent song bird.
So I would no longer feel like a big old ugly dog turd.

 

 

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By Bill

 

 

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Thanks for reading Song Bird again,
Bill