I saw a trail writ in the dust
of tiny feet and scraping wing
I followed it, I felt I must
pursue this crippled, hobbled thing
It led me out beyond my path
along the road it bent the grass
I wished I had a little lath
as here I saw a bloodspot pass
I deeply yearned to know this bird
to bind its wing and hear its song
an hour had passed without a word
the crippled thing had hobbled long
At last I spied it on a bough
so low to earth that it could reach,
and here it sang, I know not how,
its lilting sonnet clear as speech
It sang a song of broken hope
It sang a song of pleasures lost
The sky for which it could but grope
The cruel earth where it was tossed
It told of soaring flight above
It told of perches ere on high
It told of fellow birds in love
To all of which it bade goodbye
The song was done, the heart was rent
I cautiously approached my friend
It looked at me, its strength was spent
Its sable eyes told of its end
"Oh bird!" I cried, with passion soft,
"Do not consent to fade away!
"With mended wing and helped aloft,
"You may regain the sky one day!"
The birdie preened its prideful breast,
And looked upon its broken wing,
Let out a sigh with grief impressed,
And fell to earth, a lifeless thing.
