Little birdie, did you not know?
Did you not know that the road you lie on is rough and ugly
That the great hulking shapes that roar by your body are unkind
That while you have grown from so small a birdling
Warmed by the golden, sometimes waning autumn sun
And the horrid rain so cold and discomfiting to your nest of patchwork twigs
Picked and weaved with careful beaking
That the wind that sings grand themes to your kinfolk
Reminding them of grandfathers taking wing on lesser plumes
Now carries tidings of their children, where they lie
Little birdie, did you not know?
That if you miss the sudden turn
That so often you managed so well, and so deftly
Carving so freely your arcing paths in the sky
And near the ground, and past the columns and trees
Tracing paths of joy and being
Little birdie, did you not know?
Your chest of feathers are soft and furry
They glow softly in the evening sunlight
Your dark wings now fold across your eyes
And the life you once held spreads now to the earth
That the sequence of your final tumble
Spiralling, collapsing, crumbling
Will not be mourned
Little birdie, did you not know?
Such as you now know, little birdie.
