A magpie's diary

Rummaging through the ruins,
I recover you, lifeless.

Your wings have been stiffened
by an unsparing winter.

You stare at me,
seemingly accuse me in your silence.

I look around.
You need a decent burial place
amid the emerald valleys of spring.

Scavenger birds are busy
searching for suitable twigs.

Now is the time to build
a cozy hermitage. Time to recall coziness.

I turn the page.