Trust was a tame bird in the hand,
unlike this crow
on my shoulders, she’d sing in my palms.
When she flew –
O sometimes she’d fly –
she’d turn back soon,
her wings folded in my fingers like
a soft bud. Heart-shaped, when held;
blush-feathered like a collared
dove. I miss her
monotonous swan-song: true love,
true love, true love...
Jacqui Thewless
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/swan-song-12/
