Dying songbird

She looked divine in luminous white,
Her face arched stone like stubborn tide.

She looked not once, and yet not twice,
Unmoving her big black round eyes,

Her shaking hand reached out for the vice.

The distant cries of a dying song bird,
She promised that would go unheard.

A cold and white hand that picked,
the last of what she would touch,
and to the world it would not mean much.

Another life to the heavens fed,
the luminous white turned crimson red.

She lay there loveless as before,
the crimson being washed of the shore.