Till one day- the bird
That leaves decides
To never return.
This emptiness after
She leaves. Every song
That goes unanswered.
And the urge to sing
That dries here-
Somewhere every cage
Was a home once.
A good host. A rib.
Then the music sinks.
Breathing stops.
The fragrance dies.
The skeleton of the
Flower still stands stout.
But for what?