She Looked at Me

She Looked at Me

She looked at me

as she hovered on the floor of her cage

sweet Jasmine, her eyes saying

It’s time...it’s too late
I think you tried…good bye.

Before I slept I checked again and

saw her lying lifeless
yet would not touch her in case

she was still warm

then slept with sadness

and when I arose checked on Pierre

and he too lay lifeless having fallen

from his perch, his wing askew.

Oh no. Not both in the same night.

I wonder, Is there a trill  or chirp where they say

I suffer. My time is near.

Or is their silence the sign

And when Jasmine knew, did she share her sadness

and did Pierre hide his pain knowing how great was hers

did he say he would follow and would see her again

How do birds face their death and how do they do they grieve

I pondered on these things as

I placed them together in their grave

and covered it with myrtle, the brown dirt covering

Jasmine’s bright yellows and Pierre’s rich greens.

They were good birds.

They sang with the sunshine and I knew

this was my last time and gave their cage and all their

things to my friend’s grandson who wanted

pet parakeets above all things

and didn’t tell him how they will break his heart.

.