His Bill is clasped – ↑locked↓
his Eye forsook ↓estranged↑
His Feathers wilted
low –
The Claws that
clung, like lifeless
Gloves
Indifferent hanging ↓gathered↑
now –
The Joy that in
his happy Throat
Was waiting ↓assembled↑ to
be poured
Gored through and
through with Death,
to be
Assassin of a Bird
Resembles to my
outraged mind
The firing in Heaven,
On Angels – squandering
for you
Their ⁺Miracles of
Tune –

unsuspecting ↓picious↑