Upon the bough, amidst a blackened sky,
Martha perched where countless wings reside.
A living tempest, flock devours the land,
Predators cower, yielding to their band.
Hunters’ scorn, with greedy eyes they see,
Hundreds of millions, each one ceased to be.
Now solitary, caged, and frail, she lies,
Martha, the last of her kind, beneath dim skies.
Authors Note: An attempt at the 4-act structure in the style of “Spring, Summer, Asteroid Bird: The Art of Eastern Storytelling” by Henry Lien. Assist by ChatGPT.