Upon the wing above an ancient oak
Two love birds soared and swooped towards the ground,
In harmony their tender voices spoke
And sang a tale of all the love they'd found.
With gentle grace they landed on a bough
And bathed in sunlight while they stopped to rest,
A rustling breeze blew softly on their brow
And billowed lightly on their feathered breast.
With deadly eyes locked on their perfect frame,
Both unaware of their own mortal plight,
My arm outstretched I took a careful aim
And hurled a stone which took an evil flight --
    The joy I hoped to find turned swift to sorrow,
    No song of love will bless this oak tomorrow.