goosey gander
It was on her first flight out of the nest that she was shot, consumed and stuffed by a hunter. She is mounted on his wall now, wishing for a second shot at dying.
Art. Ornament. Decoration.
Just a pretty, shiny thing to behold.
No rhythm, her heart has been removed.
She is a trophy. A prize. A thing to be admired.
Desired. Forever frozen in a flight to nowhere.
She will both make it there
and not.
silly goose
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