Here is a poem I wrote once, let me know what you think
A feather flutters down.
A bird is crying.
A nest lies crushed under-
the heels of a thousand
soldiers, bakers, teacher
One summer there was a blue bird
outside my window.
If you looked close at the tree
you could see some eggs.
the tree was cut down.
but, where there isn't a tree
there is a telephone pole.
you could call it progress
I guess.
But it may just as well regress
Birds arn't the future
Who cares about birds?
and eggs even less.
eggs are only good
when they are poached.
What about me?
