The Last Flight

Tell me, if I were a little girl 
selling  matches,
would you buy a few boxes 
from me,
keep me warm with a cup of tea
on your New Year’s Eve?
Or better,
if I were a bird in late autumn,
with two broken wings,
would you take me inside your home,
Care for me and lie to yourself
about how I’ll be able to fly again
I cannot fly,
yet were I to choose for me,
I’d be the little swallow
of selfless deeds
lying frozen,
in the winter’s coldness,
at the feet of her happy prince.

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