Titmouse Tragedy

by Alice Woodrome

A flock of tufted titmice
came flying past our trees,
when three mistook the window
for passage through the leaves.

I heard the sharp tap tapping
and saw the flash of gray,
as birds on glass collided
and one two three they lay.

One instant they were soaring;
the next, so limp and still.
Three tiny necks were broken
that no one meant to kill.

We took their fragile bodies;
but did not take the blame.
We chose a handy grave site,
and said it was a shame.

Five days the smudges testified
where death had left its traces.
The sixth, I took the windex
and cleaned the warning places.

It's not that I'm un-feeling,
for less has made me weep.
I mean no ill to bird or beast,
but I've a house to keep.




Email Alice with Comments                 Go to Literary Index