Yellow Canary (A Mother's Loss)

Sitting atop the apple tree
Sat a bird, a small yellow canary
Wings are spread, to greet the breeze
As it watched the swaying trees

Clouds above, rolling slowly by
Winds are calling it to fly
Gratefully it does obey
Flapping its wings in a grand display

Harder harder, still they beat
Kick off with tiny feet
Struggling against the opposing strain
The truth slowly registering in its brain

Further and further, down it falls
Wings have failed to heed call
Closer and closer the coming ground
A soft cry rang out as it fell, tumbling down

Wounded, Broken its song is done
Upon the ground it laid shunned
No longer to hear the breeze sing
No longer to flap its tender wings

You see not all angels are meant to fly
Some are only meant to die
For it was not 1 week upon its birth
And now the Mother canary is made to cry

A parent should never have to bury their child
But such is the wicked will of the wild...