There was a hurry in that bird's wings.
The swift departure from the ground
aided by effortless flapping of wings
have been replaced
with erratic movements that seemed unfit 
against the backdrop of a clear sky.

It must have been fleeing,
hurling it's body across the thick air
in a motion reminiscent
of an unruly stone in the air,
towards the setting sun.

But what chases a bird that wields
freedom on the tip of its wings?
What scares a bird to lose its grace
if anything but captivity?


One thought on “Grace

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