The Bird
The Bird
Right there sits the flock queen from Oceanea,
Right on my balcony,
Calm.
Surrendering her flock in the fire hood
She tries to convey to me.
Losing near ones in war decorated by the intelligentsia
She stealthily comforted thousands cultured
Embracing war in east, middle and west
And finally me.
I can't withstand
Her burnt feathers, tweaked beak,
Firm claws holding tight my drenched sleeves
And the sarcastic message from her steady eyes
'You may stop now!'