A cage of feathers, swirling
Never released, the calls
Of this bird long since
Faded, carried away upon
Now silent winds.

A cage of feathers rocks back
and forth, Dented, damaged
Knocking on the old wooden
wall. Two knocks for death
One Knock its to late,
You never hear the second
Knock as your already dead.

Bones dry and parched, feathers
Clinging on as if to give flight.
The bones shuffle around this
Tattered open grave, if you
were too read the signs, the
Movements. It tells you what
Is known, death owns this place.