Bluebird Poem by William B. Watterson

A bright, blue blur flashed in the April sun
As I jogged past a shakly barn along
A line of rotting fence near Wildcat Lake.
A lone bluebird homed in on a locust post,
Capturing me with black, accusing eyes.

My spirit sank as I journeyed back on the
Wings of time to kneel again
Behind a makeshift boyhood blind and watch
Two bluebirds nesting in a crooked crotch
High in my neighbor's tree. Once more I cursed
To see through salty tears as I heard the dull,
Disgusting thud of a fat, hot pellet finding its mark.
Again I saw the fluttering, failing fall,
Stroked the ruined pinions, and kicked the dust
To cover the damning gaze of a glassy eye.

Leaving his post, with fiercely beating wings,
The bird shot like a whining bullet past
My ear and disappeared into a thick
Balsam grove. I, heartsick, sober, subdued,
Hands jammed into pockets, no longer
Jogging, trudged toward home.