Museum of Extinction

A feather,

a beautiful artefact.

There were creatures once adorned with them 

These creatures used to fill our skies.

Their song used to raise our spirits.

Forests used to be alive with sound;

Twittering and chirping,

layered song to create a forest symphony.

The woods are silent now.

These magical creatures were a symbol of hope.

"Hope is a thing with feathers"

What hope is there now

with the worlds last feathers

behind glass in a museum?