Mama bird’s feathers burn from the sun.
She’d long fallen in love with the heat.
All the while she cries from the pain
and says “Don’t fly too close to the sun.”
So I watched.
Then flew away.
Papa bird soared across the seas.
In love with the wonders he saw
All while forgetting the wonders he had.
Still he says, “Get out while you still can.”
So I hear.
And burrow below.
Grandpa bird sang to the bright morning rays
In love with Earth’s sound and music.
All unaware of the songs at his back.
But he’d say, “Hello, my little swan.”
So I’d go,
But he isn’t there.
Grandma bird made a marvelous nest.
Deep in love with the making of home.
All the while knowing a chick is gone.
She says, “You’re mine, you’ll be okay.”
So I wept,
And flew far away.
The sky is raging,
It has no love.
Not for me or land or music.
No home waits below,
No wonders to see
Through the clouds
And curtains of rain.
No burnt feathers
Or warbling song
Can save me from this fate.
No distracted bird
Far overseas
Could reach me,
Nor still her nest
Just as far
Could catch me.
I’m alone,
I’m wet,
My little body is falling.
Why was I born
To fly?
If the sky would use my lack
And the Earth yield no perch,
I might as well,
Fall back.
But mother is burnt,
Father has flown
Grandpa is gone away too.
Grandma is old
Her nest long empty,
And I’m too old for such things
But no branch will be bare,
No craw belt a welcome,
No worm or berry in dirt.
So I’ll just fly
Even as my wings fail
Because they say strength comes
In a pinch.
And if not,
The fall can’t be worse
Then the flight.
Oh weary,
Oh feathers,
Oh burrow or home.
Oh bones, oh marrow,
Oh hope, faith, and trust,
Oh sky and rain and thunder.
Author T.S. Lowe 