wasting beauty

I preened my coloured feathers,
looped soaring through the clouds;
raised hell in nearby birches,
filled dusk with evensong.

Exhausted from this ruckus
I calmed down on a twig.
And saw his beloved backside
dissolving in the mist.

The lesson in this poem
should hence be understood:
do marvel someone's beauty
before they leave for good

(
Or - as Babbel puts it:
the lesson in this poem
is easilyly told:
do marvel someone's head
before they're getting bold
)

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