The death of a green Parrot

The bird sitting on a wall has a sharping look
To look behind in pulling the backlogs
 As if all are lost in the past;
Being adorned with the scratching wings.
The leaps are shaking in a badge
To swear the path of lively kids
Who are starving day and night
Like the half dead birds flying over
The walls of orchard and the pine.
The little buckles are falling on the ground
 Scattered here and there in twisting
The shrubs and creeper of nature
The wings are flapping making sounds
To have gloomy bittier waiting for the prey.
 The parrots think as it has red feather
Like the knife edge in the ocean hopes.
The water of the streams lining with
To go on over inside the brick wall
To have fresh and vigor of mind
 In hereinafter and deadly stealth.
To assuage aging in the past
On the pangs of life and death
As an egotism continually moving in rows.

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