She lifted the limp
wing of the crane

gingerly          Fallen
some days earlier,  it

had   been   fighting. Fighting
some  unknown  enemy  that  
can only be known to the rest
of  us  as  pain,  the  universal

enemy and binder of souls. Today
the crane stopped fighting. Finally
overcome   in   his    losing   battle
against broken wings, our story's

broken heart. As Viola sat by the fallen
bird,  she  sighed-  Not  the  sigh of the
broken-hearted,   but  the  sigh  of  the
sigh  of the  black bird  that  sits at the

edge of the battlefield
and   grows     weary
of the sight  of death

All things beautiful,
she  decided,  must
die along  with the
ugly   and   reviled

This great separator,
death,  unites us  all