Thursday, April 10, 2008

The little birdie

I came late to stop them from hurting you.
When I asked them to have a greater look at you,
they obliged--almost willingly--I was surprised.
I touched and held you, you're still warm.
But fatally wounded. You were dying.
I conceded.
In between your shallow breathing,
you still captivated me with your beauty.
You did not fail to impress me with you charm.
At the treshold of death, you're dying body
assures me of the beauty that lies beneath.
Die you must, but live forever.