My wings are bent at an awkward angle.
I lay on the ground alone,
Watching the others soar high in the clouds,
Songs bright,
Hearts alive.

I flap my wings as if to follow,
But searing pain stops me.
Dirt covers my feathers,
The yellow fades into a dull brown.

I watch them go,
Longing to follow,
But knowing I cannot.

For I am a bird with broken wings,
And I will never fly again.