Twig

I hold a twig in my hand

It flys away in a bird's beak

It's purpose is shrouded in mystery

Nature can turn against us

But it's our only hope

Of survival in a uncaring world

Life is precious and relevant

But we question its existence

Why do birds fly?

Are they the reason we fly?

Question outnumber answers

It's a fact of life

Which we don't fully understand

Maybe the bird knows.

A Bird sketch!