Little Bird

I see you, little bird,
as you flutter in the brush
on unsteady wings. And your voice,
a tiny peal of a bell’s song,
pulls with it the first light of dawn.

But oh, little bird, don’t you know?
It’s a scary world outside your door–
here, there be monsters.

And I watch from my porch
the cat creeping close, with
the scent of prey heady in his nose,
attracted by the same song
I was enjoying just a moment ago.

And from the trees, your mother calls
in her angry lecturing voice; or
she is yelling at the cat,
scolding, warning, threatening;
but what can you do, little mother,
when he’s so much bigger than you?

It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there;
or a cat-eat-bird world;
even a bird-eat-bird world, sometimes–
because everything beautiful can be ugly, too.

Oh, little bird,
you should have stayed home.


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