Am I to be in due time, a resigned maestro by the full length windowpane. As a mirror reflecting the tumultuous crashing waves of life, and the crescendo of thunder and lightning flashes on the other side of the glass?

There was this little bird that I really liked;



I held it so tight,
A warm waterbag.
So soft yet exposed. So vulnerable
I had thought it
Loved me too;
but
it put up
a Fight






busted lungs. That
little wreck of fluff
and, torn feathers.