Ode to a Chickadee

What Haunts me the most, are the Random, little deaths,

My mind refuses to comprehend Genocide, for even one short breath,

And so, as fickle life leaves the eye of my tiny rescued bird,

True Sadness blinds me and without a spoken word,

My trembling hand reluctant, leads this bird to lie,

In that cold and foreign earth, so far, from its Beloved Sky .