Last performance

We waited for the evening bird to sing
Away our weary thoughts, while holding hands.
The bird was late, we thought it lingering
Nearby, but silent, as it might have other plans.

Some shots were heard of a hunting man’s gun
Who must have aimed at our singing bird
As nothing happened and the night went on
Without its lovely music to be heard.

Then, there the singing started in the tree
When morning came along. We were content.
So lovely was his song for you and me.
He gave his best a while and then he went.

I found the bird with open eyes but dead
That morning, in cold rain and greyish light.
A bullet had destroyed its lovely head.
Its last song had been ours that very night.

The hunter died within a week from then.
No one could understand his sudden death.
In days he had become a weak old man
who spit out feathers taking his last breath.

πŸ˜‰

Comments on: "Last performance" (19)

  1. Wow, this is sad, with a powerful message, and beautiful all at the same time!

  2. Sad but wonderful, Ina.

  3. Love that ending, the feathers such a light touch of black comedy. Of course, I don’t mean ha ha, but ahhh.

  4. This is a fable. I feel it. It instantly resonated with something I wrote a while ago.
    http://mairibheag.com/2012/03/06/the-stag-a-fable/

  5. Nettie Schroders said:

    Ina mooie poezie,als ik dit leest dan denk ik aan muziek. Woorden combineren, net als een musicus met zijn blad muziek. Noten aan een rijgen tot een mooi stuk. En dat doe jij met woorden. ik vind het knap dat mensen dit kunnen. Gr Nettie

    • Hoi Nettie, dank je wel. Ja, het is eigenlijk ook net breien, steekje voor steekje iets maken πŸ™‚ Ik kan alleen niet goed breien πŸ™‚

  6. Oh so sad but beautiful too. A privilege to feel you own a bird’s last song 😊 L&H xxx ❀️

  7. What a great story told in verse, and with all your normal feeling and atmosphere. It’s hard to feel sorry for the hunter I have to say

  8. Jane Thorne said:

    Great poem Ina. I was offered a game keepers job last year and I turned it down. My heart tore at the thought of nurturing birds to then see them slaughtered by the hunter’s guns….❀ Xx

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: