The Lesser Buttermilk Tit

Watching its tiny fragile breath,
Hands cage a blue tit, fearfully.
Rescued from a wet painted door,
Buttermilk gloss now tips its wings.

Should I bathe its tainted feathers,
My fears a flutter, I hold my breath

Would it live if I set it free?
Fingers open... it stands a moment...
Then, perfect flight, like feathered light,
Leaving my hands, it fills my heart.

Fact: A blue tit weighs less than four sugar lumps.