These words were drawn from heart and mind revealing,
the substance of the love I felt for who you were,
and yet they were rejected, in mid-flight, like broken birds;
crippled feathers, dropping dusted onto barren earth.
How sad they were, in silent state, crushed by winds of anger,
which ruffled still, small sorrowed tufts remaining,
blew in hidden whispers through gasping beaks of hope;
huddled, helpless, hopeless in their littered gathering.
And yet, even in the midst of such unexpected destruction,
they lay in sure and scattered patterning of older truths,
for life remained in faint but steady pulse of tiny breasts;
such offerings were not so easily, by hurt reduced.