He came out of the sky,
Landed at my feet.
He'd been hurt way up high,
In the noon day heat.
His feathers were ripped,
Right off of his back.
He had been the victim,
Of a hawk's attack.
I picked him up,
He was bloody and torn.
I cleaned up his wounds,
And fed him some corn.
In a few days,
He started to heal.
His feathers grew back,
And then I could feel,
That he was ready,
To fly once again.
He was cooing up a storm,
And feeling no pain.
So I took him outside,
And I set him free.
He circled three times,
As if waving to me.
Then he set his course,
And flew to the west.
I guess he'd figured,
He'd had enough rest.
11/28/10 Alton Texas
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very nice indeed. As someone with about twenty birdhouses in my backyard, I know what you mean.