A bird takes a wing, spreads it,

preparing for a flight he’ll never return.

Mistake or not, he follows no script,

he minds not if it causes a burn.

He wades through the water,

waiting for his moment to strike.

He lets his eyes do the slaughter,

but soon his teeth will bite.

He once decided to take a flight,

but his wing had faltered in the air.

He was the king of vicious birds’ fights,

and he knew exactly how not to care.

[makes no sense- just like me.]