In times, I wonder where it had flown
In lakes or gleams
In seas or beyond;

Jamaican tail and feathers blue
My daughter had a pet cuckoo

She made a little spur of glee
And sounds that hurt my knees
My daughter adored the scorned bird
Her love for the creature was rather absurd

The fretful bird paid no attention to me
Until that night in the winter of '93
When she curled her feathers and looked at the sky
And stared at me with mournful eyes

She died that night and and saw through me
My memories of my child when she was three