Butcherbird : 21 lines of Blank Verse about finding a dead Butcherbird.
A fragile framework of bones
beneath a fleecy flying-jacket of feathers;
black and white in the sun,
darkness and light in the shadows;
But that was when he lived.
Now, as I pick him up,
he’s just another minor tragedy.
That inner spark of life,
that pilot light of intelligence
no longer shines in his eyes.
They are dull, cloudy, unblinking.