feathers too few…cold
your dead bodies in my hands
wings broke, unused

no one can block the bitter
winds or stop the icy rain

Copyright © 2018-07-03, Lizl Bennefeld.

Too many years in a row, storms too many and too strong. Too many birds dead before they learn to fly. I love the birds, their songs and winks, their nods and whispers. There are fewer, now. I miss them.