On the death of a blackbird

Dressed for a funeral, the blackbird glides its way in the freedom of the skyway to where no danger only clouds, hide their glory. 

A kingdom of escape, a fathered sky, where no car engine frightens God’s décor.

Feeding against the wind is hard, and so the blackbird comes to the roadway for breadcrumbs and berries. 

It will never know the imminent danger it puts itself in, it may escape the evil dictator juggernaut this time, but, one day soon it will be a flattened traveller, on dark India rubber.

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