If a crow wanders
In the dead of the night,
In flight,
With its wings flushed forth,

And embraces the currents
Of the evening winds,
Would its life,
As well,
Be worth?

If a nightingale sings
In a melody calm,
Its voice unheard
In the staggering qualms

Of the breeze that swept
An arrow brought home,
Would its songs be the heart
Of a tragedy’s poem?

If a blackbird wonders
Where its lover may be,
As it searches the sky,
Scavenging as free,

The fragments she left,
The pieces contained,
Will its search be forever
Forgotten in vain?

— A. P.

4 thoughts on “Aviary

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