What I thought was his leg was his head. His brain and skull destroyed and eaten from the back. What I thought were toes hanging was his face, his leg; severed neck muscles.

I did this to him. Changing the bird house, made it open again for competition. New sparrows, I think possibly even related, came in to check the new house. In it, they found this tramautized and weaked sparrow. Whom they murdered and displayed to claim the new house as their own.

This I do not know for sure. It is possible another bird flew into the new house, and killed him. Or his own parents realized he was unable to fly, and rather than let him die slowly, destroyed his head. But I can’t imagine that.

I killed this poor bird, by trying to save him, but not understanding how his kind lived.

I took him in my hands, helped him, tried to comfort him. I took some of his home, and tried to create a new home for him. I build a new place for him to stay, in safety to heal.
And then I left him.
The next time I saw him , he was murdered by his own kind.

Sounds too much like our war on Iraq for comfort.
You cannot help people you do not know.