On Finding a Dead Bird Under My Window

On Finding a Dead Bird Under My Window written by William Henry Davies

From "My Birds", 1933

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Here you lie, with feathers cold and wet -
To dig a grave for you will cause no sweat!
I never felt your body warm with blood,
And now I hold you longer than I should.

What does it matter, if we live or die -
You with a cherry-tempted heart, or I?
The sun in Heaven has his own heat and glow,
And, when all flesh is gone, the grass will grow.

Yet still I hope that you have left a son
Or daughter here, to do what you have done -
To tap my window sharply, without warning,
And be the first to wish a friend 'Good Morning.'

This work is in the public domain in countries where the copyright term is the author's life plus 70 years or less.