In a time upon once,
there was a land of sunlight and ashes.
You could hear the harmony of whispers
coming from the beautiful Sandgrouse.
They picked at dry twigs and flapped
tan wings at black flies.
I huddle with her under the pupilless eye
before the arrow pierced her breast.
Her feathers flew as she fell, invisible,
landing as something less than a being.
Another shadow existence in a silent world.
Some say that the Sandgrouse is safer in a cage.
With her dry twigs, black flies, anger, and rage?