Thursday, June 14, 2012

Accidental Nightingale

In her hands were just hatched robins; in her eyes, two mouths to feed
In her mind ‘twas childhood innocence, one guiltless for her deed
In her heart the chicks were lonely, they were peeping “Oh so loud”,
and I’d not the will to tell her she’d no call to be so proud

For their mother soon was screeching as she hopped about the nest
and the birds within her calling range would all become distressed
as a thief was in the local wood, a carnivore most foul
and the lovely songs the birds would sing soon turned to twittered scowl

But the task at hand was mothering, so to the books we flew
where the girl learned how to replicate what mother robins do
Jenny found an empty wooden crate and filled it’s floor with straw
then she set the chicks within their nest, her tear filled eyes in awe

For some weeks she fed them bugs and grubs and water from a spoon
In the sunlight she might read to them of bunnies and raccoons
In the evening she would sing a soft and lilting lullaby
of the wondrous gift, to be a bird, a master of the sky

Jenny cried when I said “let them go, it’s time they spread their wings
they’ve a hundred trees to perch on and a hundred songs to sing”
But she took her little children to the world and set them free
Now she thinks she sees them daily

and I never disagree

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