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.