Feathers in your mouth and blood on your tail:
I can't help but be a fool for the facts.
Immaculate paws point to faith I'd lacked
and oust me as someone fragile and frail.
Yet we're still clearly left with a dead bird
and its carcass conveys a carnal sin
so it takes all my strength from within
to dismiss the tweeting that I had heard.
For sometimes feathers are merely feathers
and blood can come from natural sources;
when careless suspicions run their courses
fearful minds can break free of their tethers.
I still nurse that bird in my gentle hands
knowing not who did it harm nor where it lands.
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