One Less Voice

It's a crisp morning, crystal blue skies with the exception of one cloud.
On my back deck I discover a dead bird. I recognize it as the Pine Warbler that sings in the same tree every day outside my window. A bonfire is burning yard grasses and leaves in the back acre so my children and I carefully wrap the songbird in a burlap cloth securing it with a rose colored ribbon. We lay this beautiful creature in a box and carry it to the fire. From the many trees around us, bird song, one less voice, one last good-bye.


gray smoke spirals
she takes her fine linen
off the clothes line