It wasn’t quite the event that urged me to look;

More of a feeling: a gist of something extraordinary.

In the sweet emerald grass of spring I noted a dove;

It flew up in a soaring majesty, or so I thought.

The street on my other side prevented me from hearing

The soft feeble cooing of the bird, but I knew it wasn’t right.

In its talons was the headless corpse of its friend

Or its brother, mother, father, sister, something of its acquaintance.

In this act, I saw humanity.

The poor dove struggled with the weight of this other;

Its flight was staggered and strained.

As it made its disorderly journey across this avenue,

It could fly high no longer.

Its wings gave out, its body plummeted,

Into the glass pane of the school bus.

I stopped and stared back with a breath of shock,

The cars continued on in their hasty ways.

I saw white feathers litter the ground, and

Two lifeless bodies crushed and red.

I looked to the ground and noted,

Merely one more moral to today’s learning:

I will always let go of what is gone.