What do you think of my poem?

Another revision:

You didn’t fly far.
Dear featherless friend.
To be born subpar.
Of nature’s cruel whim.
Is a brief existence marred.
To meet an early end.

The bird
He fell out of his nest
Yes
YES!
Ants will eat him now!

RIP baby bird, I will pray for your soul tonight before I go to bed.

Down on hope, though I accept you in full
Never to grow your feathers, never to love
Unwelcome to this world, born to be less
You fell from the nest and stopped your hope on down

Thou hast arrived in thy unadorned state,
My friend bereft of plumage, as fate chose,
Thy birth marked by an inferior fate.

Thou art condemned to an untimely end,
While others soar on wings of vibrant hue,
Yet 'tis thy spirit I shall commend,
Though lacking the grace of avian view.

Thy form may lack the plumes that dance and gleam,
But thy soul's flight surpasses mortal frame,
In thy fragile vessel, a vibrant dream,
Defying nature's laws, thy claim to fame.

Through barren skies, thy spirit soars and sings,
Defying judgments cast upon thy wingless things.

Now, let us turn to the style of Wallace Stevens:

You arrived, unadorned, in your essence pure,
My friend devoid of feathers, in humble birth,
Condemned by circumstance, you endure,
An early end, a plight that seems no worth.

Yet, in your featherless form, you find grace,
A unique presence, stark against the norm,
In the tapestry of life, a vivid trace,
A testament to beauty's varied form.

The wingless soul, unburdened by design,
Dares to transcend the earthly binds that weigh,
In flightless skies, a boundless world to find,
A realm where limitations fall away.

Unfettered by the bounds of mortal guise,
You soar beyond, where truest freedom lies.