"The Last Passenger Pigeon"

The last Passenger Pigeon
Died alone in 1914
At the Cincinnati Zoo.

The only one left and lonely
Of the once many millions,
Spread out majestic and splendorous
Across America’s mid and prairied west,

That with her death,
Last soft breath,
Lifted her up and out
And bore her over,
To the freedom to finally join
Those migrating ghost flocks
Seen on full moon nights
Eternally crossing the Ohio River
Setting John Audubon a-quiver,

For to her silk-ilk
Of feathered minions
She fled
Coming home to echoes
Of “last call”, she sped.