Little Bird, Someday

By Andrew R. Duckworth

I see you, little bird,
Perched on the roof
After your home was axed
By a cruel and spread out hand.
I could lie to you right now,
Say things might all get better,
But the hand thinks horizontally,
Envisions building on barren land,
And there is just little place
For you in its plan.
But one day, I imagine,
You’ll be able to fly back
To a garden somewhere
Where the stems first took root.
There will be trees,
Plenty of sky to soar,
And you won’t perch on a roof.
Those wings can rest
In the best light,
Someday.