Walter Mallard

Written by: Specklefeather

You see the border of his wing is torn and stained with shot
And you see a drop slip from his wing, blood-red, and somewhat hot

Silence
Not a sound from the lake surface
Has the land lost her memory?
She is dying alone
In the sunlight the withered weeds collect at my feet
And the reeds begin to moan

Every dying heart seems to beat
A fatalistic warning
A hunter’s gun fires, another life expires
But soon it will be morning

Memory
All alone at the lakeshore
I look back at the old days
I could fly freely then
I think of a time I knew when happiness was
Let those memories live again