“I’ve seen people throw stones at them”

Spring bird, perched in apple tree
Hunting schoolboy out for play
Catapult in pocket, sling on display
Killing many a tin can, but today he would be a man

Flickering light on dancing leaves, chirping chirp
Movement of branch, gentlest of breeze
Fragrant scent just afternoon
Warm sunlight, bursting bloom
Buzz of bee, dancing in tree
Green below, blue above
Sat in a garden of tender love

Pebble white bird in sight
Splattering smash, spaghetti and mash, tumbling crash
Apple blossom and bloody feather, screeching terror
Stupid moment of childish pleasure
All nature stood still’ the hunter’s first kill
A step into the dark to, lose part of one’s heart  
Death is never just a clean kill
Without need is a sin                                                                                                                                to damage the Creator’s plan, 
Lowering the dignity of himself a man

Continued