The bird was dead.
It was beautiful.
Still and elegant,
It's skin tinged blue and it's beak so smooth,
It's feathers lay nearly perfectly preened as if to be displayed.
I feared I might be the last to look upon it,
For the tide was drawing closer,
Unknowing of what lay ahead,
Waiting to be taken.
Beautiful words, have deapth meanings, thank you for sharing it and keep posting such nice posts with us.
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