I do not sing

Upon rescue 
It turned its eyes downward
Away and sadly gazed towards
The sky

Its fleetingness a palpable thing
Its tiny paws acurled to die
and,

so soflty sad its body felt, still
warmed with sun, that downy
pelt
of consequence to no one's heart
A tiny life called to depart

a story lost, not ever told
this weight upon my palm
now cold
a perfect soft and
Wasted thing

Of gods and death 
I do not sing
a praise

M ~