The bird won't sing again...

The hunter looked through the branches of the birch tree

Yes! he was there, the grandma's bird, singing free

The shallow cracks of the earth should have swallowed the wretched hunter

But the bird's sweet melody could even fill the scars of others.

The hunter took out his gun and aimed

At the singing bird whose tales of fame

Had reached the village and it's flesh would cost

'Atleast five pounds' the hunter thought.

A flash of memories reminded him

About the grandma whose bird was this

Fleshy one sitting here on the tree

Waiting under the noon sunlight for the grandma's treat.

'Oh what a tubby jackpot!' the hunter remarked 

Ricocheted the gun and shot the bullet at the poor lad

The bullet pierced through the sweet heart of the singing bird

The crying bird fell down from the branch of the birch.

The door of the hut opened ajar

And stepped out from the house,the blind grandma

She walked towards the birch tree to find the bird 

But no bird sang the sweet song from the birch.

The grandma's eyes watered at his unheard call

The hunter took the bird and went along

The grandma missed a step without his instructions vague

That was when she realised the bird won't sing again...