A Tale About A Robin and One About A Moth

This is a narrative poem about a robin I wrote last year for a creative writing class. It is not very good, but it is a true story.

Robin

you were a small, speckled thing,
your black-dotted breast
a faded orangish-red,
your bright black eyes examining, taking in,
the brand new world outside your nest
in the shade of the front maple tree,
dangerously close to the road, and i knew
i must shepherd you to safety; i, with ten years
of life could see vulnerability.
speaking softly, i tried to circle around-
oh no, little bird, not that way!
in the road, your chest thumping,
hopping awkwardly, unable to take flight,
eyes wild with fright,
and i held my breath,
first one car,
then two,
somehow you were ok, then that white van-
one second, a chance, the next
a tiny, deafening crunch,
and you were reduced
to a flattened mat of downy black
and reddish feathers,
sticky with blood,
your feet protruding out,
neat and stiff.

i'm sorry, and i wanted to tell
you then, only there was nothing
left to say, so i took
my dad's old gardening hoe
carefully picked you up, carried
your limp little body
back behind the rasberry bushes
where i dug a grave,
covering you with a round, gray stone,
and i cried and cried because i never knew
until i saw you die
how quick it was.

And to prove I am not all seriousness and sadness;

Moth Before A Street Light

O light, O bright and promising
Wizard of life, to you I spread
My delicate, worshipful wings,
Before you I leap and flutter
In reverent admiration.
O luminescent sphere,
So like the sun and distant orbs
Yet accessible! How awesome
Your fluorescent splendor!
Before your vivid glory,
I bow, darken, and fade away-
Offering the unworthy sacrifice
Of my humble life.

Ok, so it is still a little dark, but meant to be funny, not as some people originally thought, a critique of religion (wow, that's reading too much into my simplistic thought patterns).