Sonnet #247

I will fail again, I know this, so will you,

We’ll fail at what’s important and what we need

We’ll fail also at what matters little, and we’ll bleed

for those tiny things. We’ll fail, and fail, and be blue

I nearly killed three birds: I thought their nest

was empty in the attic vent, it was not, and their

faint chirps for two days felt like echoes, there

where so many birdsongs echo, until they pressed

against the new metal screen, sad and desperate

Fledglings ready to fly, but trapped, they had hid

While we had reached into the corners, nest despots

Yanking all the down and straw away. We did.

We did. We monsters stapled metal, and it’s hot

I failed the birds. I cut them free. I hope they live.

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