The Greenfinch


The Greenfinch

Tiny delicate greenfinch,
lying inert on muddy ground.
Four inches I’d say, at a pinch;
a thin and fluffy mound.

No blood, or signs of any struggle.
You are perfect little bird.
Did diminishing space force you to juggle
and then your fall occurred?

You were unlucky, young and frail;
perhaps not even fledged.
I’m not sure if you are male or female,
with your wings all yellow edged.

How sad, that such a precious life
has passed away so fast.
Yes, hedges are with finches rife,
their green livery unsurpassed.

But nature is cruel and arbitrary
in her choice; who lives or dies.
It seems unfair, if not contrary
to be destined a premature demise.



Photographs courtesy of :-

Top: Greenfinches, by Memotions

Bottom: The Lost feather, by Paper Life


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