HOPE'S A DEAD BIRD

Hope dared to fly; it had grown new wings,
Fresh air, blue water beneath, Hope sings.
An air of pride, Hope was soaring high,
In the light blue, cloudless unimpeded sky.
Towering majestic, everything was miniscule,
Hope encircled about.
A dash of courage, it dared to venture out,
On to unknown terrain.
Gleefully free, Hope was losing his mind!
Refused to be caged in, Hope loved to fly.
But hope had been careless, foolish,
Spotted by the Hunter, so hushed and so pry,
It aimed at Hope, who flew, unaware and oblivious,
Hunter prided himself on his rifle's power,
Seven sixty-eight miles per hour!
Gunpowder, effortless shot,
Hit on the chest, Hope was caught,
In mid-air!
Then came the fall,
Freefall acceleration,
Hunter basked in glory, wild with expectation.
Hope refused to give up,
The last flutter of wings,
Wriggling frantically,
Last prayer, mournful song he sings.
Thrust into the Hunter's sack,
Hope was over,
Hunter had the last laugh.