I do not sing

Upon rescue 
it turned its downward eyes
Away
and sadly gazed
Towards
the sky, 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 9/9/23