My sweet. My vision.
How surely, swiftly, you have fallen.
Fledgling still, pushed from the nest, barely a flap out of you.
A long way to drop, as it turns out.
You are broken -- beyond repair?
Shall we gather the pieces and light the match?
Dreams to dust;
Ashes to energy;
Rising. Rising.
You keep, after all, a fiery heart.
Will I recognize your emergent plumage?
A peck here, a flutter there.
Shorter in the wingspan -- just a little brown job --
but you?
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