look what the little bird has forgotten!

you are a bird, tremulous as a bird

with a broken wing, sore and crying out upon the sweet earth,

oh, but your beak moves not!

some bird you are, bent feathers and silenced,

tumbling from your branch,

digging yourself into the soil.

little feathered-wings has forgotten his lyre

and, my dear, quite how to fly!

notice how the wind, merciless today,

refuses to ruffle your silky fringe

and lift your hollow-boned body into the air

and how you lie at the tree’s roots

and notice, for the first time,

lines of ants carrying enormous loads

upon their sleek, delicate heads.

the wind takes no notice, lofty in the sky that he is

and the ants take no notice, focused and drawn.

oh, and how sweet music has forsaken you

with your lyre lying dormant in the cackling treetops!

notice me at the window, little bird?

look to the left and see a wooden frame

in a wooden box not a few hundred yards off.

see a small body keeping close her mewing kitten

and watching as you, little bird,

nestle nearly helplessly in the leaves and soil

having fallen for the fifth day in a row

with no little girl this morning.