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Description
An arrow through her broken wing reveals what he has done to her.
Her heart drips out on frozen ground;
Like crimson clouds spilling sorrow into the sky at dawn.
The starling's final cry is like the sound an angel would make
As it decends unto the earth,
Picking souls to save and plucking them out of thier bodies.
It could collect them in a straw basket like ripe blueberries.
She memorizes the hunters face as he collects his kill.
He's disapointed; he wanted something bigger and better
But all he got was a frail little starling, beautiful and small
Crying out into the frigid morning the most bittersweet of tunes
As he strikes her down.
He'll leave her for dead; she knows it.
A sort of premonition tugs at the back of her mind.

As if this prophecy has been rewritten,
Every word on the pages erased and newly shaped,
Forming a new story, a new future,
The hunter surprises her.
He scoops her up like a shell on the beach
With the intent of a fine polishing.
Buried in the crook of an elbow,
The pain seering in her wing is all but absent.
Quickly, the man jots to a dilapidated Ford
And gentle as a mother holding her newborn,
He sets her in the passenger seat,
Wraps her in a cloth.
The drive feels like flying used to
Only close to the ground
And her wing is broken anyway.

Someone takes away the arrow
Someone wraps her wing
And the man stands at her side.
Now a caged bird, she no longer sings
And her wrappings make it difficult to perch
But one day the hunter
With careful, timid fingers
Pulls the bandages away.
He hold her in his hand
And the starling peers into his eye
And he knows what he must do.

He takes the starling far, far away from her bindings
The unruly cage
And into the frigid air once more.
He extends his hands and opens them
Slow as a midsummer morning
And waits for the bird to fly away
Home
Where she belongs.

Home is wherever you feel safe
Protected
Secure
And the starling feels none of these in the home she was shot in.
The hunter tries to push her away
To get her to fly again
But she refuses like a stubborn bull;
Her will is a flame that never dies.

The hunter sets her down
Closes his eyes
And when he opens them again, she is gone.

In her place is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.

Description
An arrow through her broken wing reveals what he has done to her.
Her heart drips out on frozen ground;
Like crimson clouds spilling sorrow into the sky at dawn.
The starling's final cry is like the sound an angel would make
As it decends unto the earth,
Picking souls to save and plucking them out of thier bodies.
It could collect them in a straw basket like ripe blueberries.
She memorizes the hunters face as he collects his kill.
He's disapointed; he wanted something bigger and better
But all he got was a frail little starling, beautiful and small
Crying out into the frigid morning the most bittersweet of tunes
As he strikes her down.
He'll leave her for dead; she knows it.
A sort of premonition tugs at the back of her mind.

As if this prophecy has been rewritten,
Every word on the pages erased and newly shaped,
Forming a new story, a new future,
The hunter surprises her.
He scoops her up like a shell on the beach
With the intent of a fine polishing.
Buried in the crook of an elbow,
The pain seering in her wing is all but absent.
Quickly, the man jots to a dilapidated Ford
And gentle as a mother holding her newborn,
He sets her in the passenger seat,
Wraps her in a cloth.
The drive feels like flying used to
Only close to the ground
And her wing is broken anyway.

Someone takes away the arrow
Someone wraps her wing
And the man stands at her side.
Now a caged bird, she no longer sings
And her wrappings make it difficult to perch
But one day the hunter
With careful, timid fingers
Pulls the bandages away.
He hold her in his hand
And the starling peers into his eye
And he knows what he must do.

He takes the starling far, far away from her bindings
The unruly cage
And into the frigid air once more.
He extends his hands and opens them
Slow as a midsummer morning
And waits for the bird to fly away
Home
Where she belongs.

Home is wherever you feel safe
Protected
Secure
And the starling feels none of these in the home she was shot in.
The hunter tries to push her away
To get her to fly again
But she refuses like a stubborn bull;
Her will is a flame that never dies.

The hunter sets her down
Closes his eyes
And when he opens them again, she is gone.

In her place is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.