The Birdling
Published:
Winds of morn ruffle all leaves around,
The nest awakes by that shuffling sound,
Spears of sunlight tear apart the green,
Endless skies around so much they mean.
Within that nest a struggle spans weeks,
The strength of flight a tiny birdling seeks,
Explore and wander all around in delight,
All to gain that mighty freedom of flight.
The world beyond and yonder it adores,
Again its little wings the birdling moves,
Always wondering of beyond the green,
Finally it flies to that wondrous realm.
Skies of freedom slowly begin to reveal,
Of fierce winds and dangers the clouds conceal,
It sees the lands that always drag one down,
The birdling makes one tiny little frown.
Rough winds and times both pass by,
A nest it builds up and high,
The wings no more amuse its mind,
The facade of freedom it leaves behind.
Another morn comes by so fresh and bright,
Brushing through the straw the rays of light,
Awake another birdling ready to begin its own fight,
Perched above the older bird smiles down at that familiar sight.
