the songbirds croon a siren’s song
and i find myself drawn,
like a greedy moth to a flame
look how they shine!
how bright they are!
how high they must fly!
they don’t drink as much sugar water as the average bird,
nor do they indulge in flowers or worms
they must not feed as much as you or me!
but what kind of birds don’t eat?
i am nothing but a mourning dove
so i begin neglecting the backyard feed
i wait impatiently on the ground,
and hope that someone drops a seed
my wings beat with an unforeseen struggle,
and i hover lower and lower
i run into windows and doors,
and my heart beats slower and slower
but i did what i was supposed to!
where is my lustre!
my love!
i can no longer reach the sky!
then comes the realisation
the songbirds can’t fly any higher than you or me,
for the angle of the stage disrupts what you can see
and the overhead lights can make anyone glow
but now it’s too late!
if only i could warn myself then,
i wouldn’t have to accept my fate
of being dragged limply to the foxes den.
