From the branches it fell
A baby bird we named Rell
We found it on an island trip
And took it home on a ship
A bundle of sticks and white feathers
With a body it couldn't even hold together
Rell with large dark eyes
Who on fish it relies
And we fed it small fish slices
With dreams that we'd see it arise
Arise into the sky one day
That it'd live to fly one day
But as the chilly winds of night came
Cold as ice its small body became
With no mother to be around
For it had fell from the nest to the ground
And in the morning we put it in the sunshine
Hoping it would show a sign
A sign that it would survive
Even though it would surely die
But at least Rell lived two more days;
The island's cat would've eaten it anyway
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Poetry[ poetry/short stories/collection ] ❝ you made the truth into what I lied, and I lied that I was beautiful ❞ . . . a collection of rainbows, theories, and dreams, of words faded around the edges with meanings that nothing could ever fade. a...
