There's nothing quite so pure as the written word my dear, so lets have ourselves a little poem.

I had a dream a couple weeks back.

I found a horribly mangled sparrow on the ground, I picked him up with the intent on saving his life but I held him too hard and made his condition worse, I took him to someone who could help but it was dead when I got him there. However they were able to resuscitate him, and after that his wings where essentially just bone and blood so they just peeled them off, me watching all the while. After all this the bird recovered, albeit wingless, but I still felt a profound feeling of guilt.

I don't know what to make of that.