Wing

As a boy in southern Spain, he was born with a silver wing
 It poked through collars and tore jacket sleeves
 Always there where folks could see
 As a boy in southern Spain, folks would stare at his silver wing
 Like his mama's temper or his father's crying
 He grew accustomed to staring eyes
 His church raised money, and his family sent
 for a doctor from Algeciras
 A fragile woman with trembling hands arrived
 by train with a single bag
 On a gray steel table, the young man laid
 The doctor, she stood over him
 Her hand was trembling, she drew a blade
 Down his back, along his wing
 His chest rose with an anguished gasp
 The gauze soaked through, his color left
 Blood pooled down along his back
 His chest fell with his last breath
 The doctor left on the morning train
 With butcher's paper and a single bag
 The grieving family couldn't afford a grave
 For the young man with the silver wing