Prince of gamebirds and master of crooked flight, the snipe
the sea at dusk brought in as prisoner
looked at me with bright obsidian eyes
gently refused food and clumsy care
and was dead by morning.

I had shot many like it in my day.
I had prayed this little one would fly away.

Joydeep Sircar

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ganga-sagar/