by Ethel Mortenson Davis

At dawn
a loud crash
sounded against the house.
A flicker lay struggling
on the ground,
his life ending.
A beautiful bird
with speckled chest,
yellow tail,
and red feathers
on his head
looked as though
his spine was broken.
I put him in a quiet
part of the garden.
His weak cries were fearful.
Later that day,
when I checked,
he seemed closer to death.
The next morning
when I went to collect him,
he was gone.
I want to think
he got up and flew
up to the top of my tree,
but probably a cat or fox
found him on their trek
across the country.


Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry

2 responses to “Flicker

  1. I can relate to every word of this poem. My current abode has tinted windows and many a bird fights its own reflection and dies. Very sad.

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