I saw her in the stream,

She sang beautifully,

And she flew away,

Beyond my reach,

Oh! Dingy bird,

Where are you? I asked wearily,

Alas! I found her, she is dead.

There she lay peacefully,

In the dirty old dust of time,

Her feather flipped and flapped

In phallic abandonment,

And her voice echoed everywhere,

The forest is still and calm as if in mourning,

Knowing that she will never again,
hear the Dingy bird sing.