Little Birdie



Oh, little birdie

Up there in the tree,

Do I see you?

Is it you who sees me?

If I was to leap from my window-sill,

Dive through leaf and twig, breath held,

Just to clutch you in my palm,

To hear your soft feathers flutter...

Would I feel you?

Would you feel me?

If you flew to my shoulder,

Your wings spread wide with majesty,

A crimson vessel, darting from your perch,

To seek my unworthy touch...

Would I find you?

Would you find me?

What if I seized you,

Squeezed you in my fist,

To feel you tremble.

To feel you quake...

Would I harm you?

Would you harm me?

What if you attacked me,

Claws out, just to combat me,

Focused, tense, and ready.

Like an apex predator...

Would I hurt you?

Would you hurt me?

But it isn't that simple.

I stare at my birdie,

With regret ringing in my ears,

A knife in my heart.

It lays in my hand,

As dead as the night sky.

And the tree is empty,

And its branches are bare.

It falls to the pan,

Sinking deep into the water,

Its beauty torn away

By my ravaging hands.

The meal is soon ready.

I take painful chews,

With stinging tears

Pouring down my cheeks.

And I look down at my meal,

And I wish, how I wish,

We could've met in a different life,

And we could've been friends.

Oh little birdie,

Who lived in the tree,

Did I kill you?

Was it you who killed me?