Gouldian finch

As I fly and soar I hear my land whisper to me.

I nestle in the frail and fragile twigs, I cuddle, protect and warm my young.

The old and wise trees sway while I balance and grapple on the branch.

Even though.

They use me for show, beauty and elegance, they pluck me for my feathers and kill me for fun.

Am I even living?