love, a bird

love doth sit on a branch thus high
and flapped its wings and sang to the sky
and there it stayed, for passers-by
to observe and admire
with jealous eyes
or bored
or annoyed
or some combination, there alloyed
their hearts and minds so mystified
(which bird, your love?
none will describe
their love a crow,
a hawk, a dove,
a silent sparrow
it is sometimes
though truth it is,
and we are always
passers-by)
better, then, to cage this thing
or, see my good friend, pumping his air rifle
on the lawn of the church between two trees
see him pray before he dispatches this thing

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