Jane said "the birds body is in the bushes, will you both do something for her?”

So we took her in our hands; she was already decomposing,
her brains were filled with tiny white worms.
We took her to the top of the hill,
just beyond the forest, where the badgers come out at night,
we lay her on a bed of sycamore leaves.
Then we walked to the garden, and picked flowers, orange, yellow, blue.
it was nearly winter.

The day we said goodbye to the Mistle Thrush,
I remembered when I first met her.
I spent weeks walking around the garden, trying to work out who made those cackling noises,
who flew from tree to tree feasting on sweet, poisonous berries.

I guess i am getting used to saying goodbye.