I wonder where old birds go off to die:
I’ve never seen a corpse, still, on the ground
Except those shot by hunters, on the fly
For so-called “sport,” or as a food source downed.
But trust to Nature’s great recycling plan
To be more prudent than a human scheme;
There’re many other creatures who well can
Cause us to question our own self-esteem.
Our primal forebears mastered well the arts
Of coveting Earth’s bounties that abound
Before we came with doubly sapient smarts
To vaunt and covet and to dominate
With sapience better used to ruminate.