abird with a thrusted arrow upon its chest,
fell down like a red rag doll.
it fell straightly on my lap.
I looked at it's half closed eyes.
there was some thing to read in it's eyes.
the little opend beak uttered something....
"Iam a hounted bird,which still loves the hunter.
Iam a wounded bird which loves the arrowswhich injured me.
Iam a dying bird which could never hate the trap."
I heard it with my heart.....
i read it with my spirit.....
but I simply leave the bird for its fate.
nothing more than thatI could do.....
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