One Black Bird Dead

three black birds high
up in the air
flying
playing this early morning
on their
swift wings

i heard a single shot from the
hill and one black bird fell
the other two birds continue
to fly away
so frightened

they continue flying away
from that hill

a man with a brown cap emerges
and picks a dead black bird
on the rocky ground

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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