This morning brought a thump
upon my window
I peered out to see a bird
fallen from his flight
crumbled, broken, shaking in fear,
limp from impact, his feathers askew.
My heart retreated for protection,
never to love a dying creature.
For pain can only be gained, this I know.
Chided by the Lord at my frigid heart,
I heard strong whispers, "Love the bird, dear, love the bird..."
Why? For what profit? It is dead for sure...
"If you never love the dying--
you shall never love at all"
Sisters and mother gathered to the window.
I wanted to shelter them for despair,
"I think he is gone, don't look for long."
Mom said a prayer, "Jesus heal this poor bird,"
and I stood from afar and scoffed,
"The bird is dead -- don't waste a prayer."
Minutes inched by, the bird began blinking--
we all stared in wonderment.
I walked outside and nudged him with a branch...
Up and away he flew into a crayola blue sky
healed and alive -- living to fly again.
My heart smarted from conviction:
If I never love the dying--
I shall never love at all.
