One Last Attempt

Paul - Roaming through the city streets

When I was a child, I discovered a baby bird that had fallen from its nest. I couldn't leave it stranded and alone on the grass. It was so frail and vulnerable.

I brought it home and nursed it back to health. I fed it worms and wheat and cleaned its feathers. The little thing grew up healthy and strong. I called it "Pigeon" since I thought it was a pigeon. But as spring gave way to summer, I soon came to realize that Pigeon was actually a crow.

My grandmother advised me to toss it away because it was a bad omen. But knowing what it was didn't change my feelings for it.

Pigeon used to stay perched on my shoulder. I was small, and it was too big for me to carry for a long time. But I wanted to keep it close to me. I had grown attached to the little creature.

When it started to try flying on its own, I got scared it would fall and harm itself. It was cawing and flapping its wings. So I kept it in a cage for its own good.