Going into care was the best heartbreaking option
Image by PublicDomainPictures from Pixabay
The bird with ruined wings still hopes to fly, But keepers kind have feathered her last nest. Intending well, they turn her from the sky And urge her fragile, hollow bones toward rest.
There was a time the sky was hers to roam; The wind, the sun, the open air, her friends. Her world’s now shrunk to this, her strange new home. Kind keepers say, all journeys have their ends.
She flutters, fretful in the building’s bounds, Its other inmates long since turned to stone. The keepers kind, they wheel her ‘round the grounds. In sleep, she soars above them all alone.
Her broken body built no more for flight, Her spirit waits for liberating night.
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