Saturday, April 17, 2010

The bird with the broken wing

A bird fell from a maple tree,
His wing, I saw, was bent.
I meant to soothe the sorry thing,
But the thing would not relent!

I stepped away respectfully,
noting his agitation.
He'd learn to respect his wings and fear,
laws of gravitation.

I stayed, to see, not touch,
To see what the bird would do,
Had I not crossed his path,
Had I ignored him too.

He limped away to a mulberry bush,
trailing gore and glory,
His prideful little body,
nursing the injury.

Did Nature do the same for me,
In my hurt did she place pride,
so that when her children injured me,
I could heal when cast aside?

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