heading towards the light
deplorably crippled on the night
woefully looked above at the sky
wondering whether it could fly
unsure is in the air
as broken wing it has there
'Tis time that fixes things,
but still a broken wing it is.
'Tis you made it like that
with no care it's alive or dead.
When always exist one saviour
sadly that saviour is not here
for saviours only exist in tales and not real.
Dauntlesness, the spirits up;
something that a broken wing cannot keep up.
drips of reds and blacks
spilled on reeds and trees
while after then heard a plunk
saw it hit by a truck.
Though why must it suffer like this?
an answer no one can give but Thee