It was a young sparrow. I didn't look like it could fly. Its feathers were matted.

I saw that it not faired well. It was at deaths' door. Could I help it? I saw it's eyes. It was on it's last breath.

I picked it up from the ground. I craddled it in my hands. It was cold. It was shivering.

I tried to warm it. I tried to tell it that it was ok.

I carried it home - but I was too late. The sparrow died. Then I ate it.