The wind came wild with arching cries
as if the clouds had wept the skies
A storm broke loose it's tears it moans
And all the world said “Grief had grown”
They watched the sky in the morning fall
It's thunder like a distant call
They spoke of sorrow's weight
Of how the heavens mourned their fate
But no one saw the trembling wing
The shattered home, the feathered sting
A nest undone by the storm's regret
A home once warm, cold and wet
She circled once then twice, then thrice
Above the branches and the broken tree
No elegy, no whispers sound
Just quiet feathers on the ground
And so I ask: whose grief is loud?
The birds; or the crying cloud?
Do skies alone deserve our tears?
While smaller hearts grieve out of tears
For pain is pain, though shape may shift
A broken home, or storm's draft
We mourn for what's the bigger one's lost
But never ask the smaller one for the cost.

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