めじろ

This morning I found the small bird was died.
Died in the cage.
The small bird called white eye,
was captured, wounded by accident.

My dad had put the persimmon at the garden.
Dad had meant to feed birds.
But the sticky glue was on a surface of the persimmon.
It was once used for mouse trap.
Some glue was remained on the persimmon.
“It was careless of me” ,dad said.

When dad came back from walking with the dog.
He found the bird sticked to the fruits.
The bird struggle to escape,and lost his feather.
Dad bought the bird-cage and was taking care of the bird,
feed him, see him.
I heard about the story last night when I came back to home for
new year.
I asked if I could see the bird if it’s OK. or not.
But dad told me the bird is fine and better left him alone
not to scare him at the night.

I found the bird laid down on a cage next morning, means this morning.
He was died apparently.
I took him on my hand. he was really small bird.
Feather was really soft, smooth, and I could feel warmth.
But his foot was cold like a metal.

Dad made small hole and I buried the small bird died.
Put the incense on the small mountain.
Hands together, closed eyes for pray.

It is really sad story of me end of this year.