A whipoor’s will swallowed a pill that made it ill if it could talk or take a walk to spit the chalk it would gladly it would sadly it would madly wrench its guts of who’s and what’s out little cuts through folded skin twist outsides in and purge the sin from feathers fair spun in the air on a fickle dare had the bird known it would’ve left alone that magic stone the medication the eradication of its sensation