O wounded bird, why did you take your eyes off the sky? You were flying along, minding your own business, and one day...another bird saw you. He flew alongside you, in a comical rhythm. He didn't disrupt your flight, he led you to the morning worms. You skimmed the dewy leaves together, at dawn. His incessant chirping never bothered you, and eventually, a friendship blossomed. You'd swoop down and then in a flash, soar high above the leafy trees, looking at the world, below. Together, you made the other birds jealous, and they'd fly in a pattern, to be just like you. He wanted to be with you always, wounded bird. You thought he was the finest gentleman in the area, always fending off the ravenous vultures. And then one day, bam! You hit a tree while you had your eyes on him. It came out of nowhere. The sharp, jaggedy bark clipped your left wing, and you spiraled to the ground. You tried to call out for your friend, but he never came. He was there just a minute ago. Writhing in the dirt, you found your way to your feet, and hobbled along, with one broken wing dangling...lifeless. That tree, where did it come from? How did you not see it? You were blindsided by its strength, its beauty, its stoic nature. Trees are quite stoic, aren't they? If you hadn't had your eyes on your love, you would have seen it. He didn't help you that day. Such is a bird's life, I reckon. You fly, and sometimes, you rise above all the smoke and chatter. Other days, you don't, because your eyes were pressed on another bird who you thought cared for you like no other. O wounded bird, why did you take your eyes off the sky?
