The Little Bird

By Evelyne Williams
Photo Credit: Creative Commons

When I was younger,
My mother found a baby bird aggrieved from a tree,
With claw marks around it’s beak she gave it to me in hope that I could help this bird, and redeem my cats actions for hurting the thing,
And thus,
Motivated to see the baby bird fly I looked into my mother’s eyes and agreed.
So I loved the bird
Stayed up to feed it and comfort it if it were to shake, clean it’s cuts and give it breaks out of it’s cage.
And I hoped.
And I dreamed that this little yellow bellied beast would fly and live a happy life
But three weeks later,
It had died.
And so did a part of me.
And again and again tragedy shook through the death of relatives beyond my age,
Remembering their faces was as hard as starting to forget their names,
And In fear that tragedy would strike again I didn’t want to trust. I didn’t want to love
And then,
I read a story, about a boy and a girl who fell in love against their odds of their family
Then a goodbye kiss finished the tragedy
But the story was different this time.
Because the story wouldn’t have been a story if Romeo gave up once he learned Juliet’s name,
And yet,
They found a way around the potential hate and fear and they trusted and they loved,
And although there love was short lived we remember them as lovers,
So if they could love so could I
And so can you
And no,
I never saw the baby bird fly.
But I know she’s happy among the Romeo’s and Juliet’s of the sky

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