The shrill shriek of a saddened bird
breaks the silence of redemption.
Burdened by the loss of cover,
it sings a song of saviours.
Desolate spires of deadened trees
cry havoc to the heavens.
Alone it sits in utter solitude,
a remnant of progress.
On a charred limb, in a carbon coat
it contemplates the events;
of evolved man and modern war.
And the ways in which we differ.
It may have less a thought than us
but has conscience created all the fuss.
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