I have to admit that I first encountered this poem in a film, but it has resonated with me ever since. The poem is seemingly simple, yet its comment on the inimitable capacity for humans to feel sorry themselves is quite profound.
I never saw a wild thing
sorry for itself.
A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough
without ever having felt sorry for itself.
Adding video of this poem will cheapen it, but here goes anyway:
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Bruce Derby
How do you know the bird has not felt ‘sorry’ for itself?
Are any emotions really exclusive to humans?
Are we not very arrogant to answer ‘yes’ to this?