Gouldian finch
By William W
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?