Suicide

a yellow breasted bird on an old fruit tree

fluttered its wings as it left

what a sight to be seen for a man such as thee

on the tip of his very last breath

alas nothing grew in the garden again,

not a flower; not even a weed

nothing but a stone, and a wreck of a home

and the roots of an old fruit tree

but a day it would come, when as yellow as the sun,

fell a feather from a little bird's breast

for above it did flutter; with no quiver or stutter

where the man and the tree lay at rest

suicide ₢2017 c.seanmcgee