Memory Hanging in the Cedar During WWII.  Riverside Drive, Jacksonville, Florida. I felt a little chick’s beak, pip- pip-pip within its moist warm shell, cupped in my hand, as cracks went zip and zap, and cast a magic spell beneath my flashlight.  Put it back before its Momma raises hell, I thought.  There!  Nest of gunnysack deep in the dark, beneath the floor of our back porch, safe from attack . . . . Soon she was strutting with a corps of little hatchlings.  Six would trail her, scratching, peeping to her score. In time, just one turned out a male, grew its majestic comb, blue-red . . . . The yard-man caught it by the tail. He hung it feet-up, wings out-spread in our old cedar tree — and slit its throat — where it just bled and bled. Leland Jamieson

If you have any comments on this poem Leland Jamieson  would be pleased to hear them.