He could have crushed it if he'd liked
That squirming thing in between his fingers
Tiny black Bulbous eyes, staring up at him
trying in a panic to speak without words
Arrange some kind of bargain for its life

Yellow Lilac tinted wings
Perfectly symmetrical, pulsated with fear
Taking the left one first, he tore at each end untill hearing the tiny snap
Then the next one
turning to sick crumbling dust blended into the mud

A thin black strip of a thing in the dirt
If life was fair, it could have been stood on
But was not granted such dignity
He would leave it for the sun or the  buzzards  
An eye for an eye, after all