The heart beats a quick life,
And stops prematurely.
About 17 times a day.

Balancing on a slick knife,
stepping precariously,
Always the wrong way.

The candle quickly snubbed out,
No dancing flame is left,
A shortened life to fly with us,
Its wings flitting bereft.

But moments of sweet sunshine
Burnt into the horizon,
Following flights of angels,
Prompting this decision.

Fly away little starling, fly away.