The little bird spoke in broken sentences
It didn’t quite understand the usage of emotions and taste
of a foreign fruit inside her mouth
replaced by a lovely hand, molten and raw
the little one didn’t seem so anxious
after all, this wasn’t the end
the fruit tasted better than what she anticipated
but she ached for the rustic worms
her mother used to feed
It wasn’t any good but it felt like home
a shelter to borrow before it was gone
her enemies envied the dirty the treats
they were laden with fruits but what could they preach