I couldn't begin to repair
His broken wing.
Born of the bluest of blue skies
Soaked in kerosene, sitting on tinder
his intentions have fallen
to a blanket, fettered with
pine bark, rotting leaves,
rich soil and dark magic.
His tiny heart, as small as a poppy
seed beats faster than a drum
His tiny form yearns to catch the breeze
to the nectar of the next Trumpet Creeper.
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 7:51 PM UTC
I couldn't begin to repair
His broken wing.
Born of the bluest of blue skies
Soaked in kerosene, sitting on tinder
his intentions have fallen
to a blanket, fettered with
pine bark, rotting leaves,
rich soil and dark magic.
His tiny heart, as small as a poppy
seed beats faster than a drum
His tiny form yearns to catch the breeze
to the nectar of the next Trumpet Creeper.
