A lump in throat, a handful of
kneaded dough, I threw on raised
bank of river. Other weaver, sparrow
and myna through branches of tree as
they will glide will notice this trap and
I will be long gone by. The last day
an unnerving myna sat there and
I took shot of half-flying wizard,
blurring my snap. Today I shot
their feed among them and with
queer sense they flew away.
Oblivion to events they may
become in some time and as
another passerby, morsel by morsel
will divide the lump,
the lump in my throat.