She rustles her feathers, fluttering as she twists and tethers.

Three white dots on her tail, wings with bravery that will never fail.

Perched on a high branch to hide from us below; is she really scared, or is it because it's all she know?

With chirps harmonically right, I wonder if they continue throughout the night

With black, beady eyes she views us all, wondering if it's an illusion when she stands tall

She was little once, like we all were. I wonder how much she's had to endure?

But now she is silent, gone, ran from fear, going anywhere to escape from here.

We humans have given her nothing but a scare. How, I wonder, how can this be fair?