The Songbird

winds howl
and rattle the dried bones
of the songbird

that lay crumpled in a sad grey heap
beneath the sad grey sky

a lone feather
whips back and forth
caught between a joint
where two sinews once connected.

it is a small feather.

the wind almost gives it life
animatedly tearing it to and fro

this dusty, battered feather that clings
to the last scrap of flesh
that once covered the larynx

the place from where beautiful music
once flowed.

now the clattering of stale bones
give their own music

a somber song
reminiscent of the chattering of teeth
as a small child trembles beneath the covers

alone in the dark.