The bird

I zoomed through the cerulean sky, while looking down below,
Pondering about what lays in the forest, as its river flows.
Was there flowers that blew with the wind,
Or dead grass that lay untouched?
Was there trees of Sheele's green,
As chipmunks run at its feet?
The mystery of that forest gave me a burn in my chest,
As I couldn't hold that warmth in my heart.
I soared into those trees to discover a whole new world.
There wasn't flowers or grass like I thought, 
Only dirt that lay on my feet.
Some casual mud lay so still, while I flapped my wings.
There was bottles of rum or two
Before I felt a sore in my tum.
I looked around to see a hunter with a gun, as my feathers turned white to red.
Now I lay on the floor, I, now a dead snow owl.
As I now think back
How curiosity killed the cat.