Why is the bird able to fly,
When it can always crash?
Why is it able to go so high,
Only to come down and be smashed?

The bird I found,
Probably a Robin I think.
Was killed from a hound,
Or some other natural thing,
Either way it was downed.

My thoughts said to bury it,
Let it Rest In Peace,
But I couldn't come to bear it,
And instead let it be.

Then I realized one thing,
A price is to paid for living,
Everything that goes up must come down,
And ultimately we all have to come to grips,
When death comes around.