Not a poem ! But . . .

He found a dead bird in the water butt, presumably one of the young sparrows that had been foraging in the garden. Even as an adult he was upset by the death. Then his daughter came to see what he was doing. She smudged a tear in her eye but wanted to hold the dead rag of feathers.
"I suppose we'd better bury it." he said.
"No, Dad. Birds belong in the air not underground. I don't want to soil these feathers with earth."
"You're right." he said.
Together they perched the featherweight corpse high up in a bush facing the white clouds in the blue sky where it should have been flying.