Acts

Always good with words beautiful songs sing the birds

Magnificent feathers colored so fine of every design

What purpose do they serve that they deserve

to hold a place in my heart's space, a creature divine

Pluck their plumes, smell roasted savory fumes

Nourishment they provide, unhatched fledgling divide

An act more than a word life more than what's heard

Out of a broken song I right the wrong, a poem a bird that died