adventures in dysthymia

Sunday, June 26, 2011

Nest

I'm a bird that has no wings
never flies, never sings,

lying broken on the ground --
fallen here and never found.

Don't return me to the nest;
I can not sing. I'll soon find rest.

Stephen Brooke ©2011

Okay, so I did see a baby bird on the ground, fallen from its nest a few days ago. It's rather an obvious metaphor for what goes on in our own lives, isn't it? We've all fallen from our nests, blah, blah...yeah, that's kind of shallow and all. The memory percolated in my poetry-making pot a while and this is the cup I brewed. Well, more like a demitasse.

* * *

Had a decent little rain yester-eve, finally. The two previous days, although there were showers around the area, we received nothing more than a minute or two of sprinkles. The day before that, again, a nice shower. None of it has been enough to really make a dent in this catastrophic drought situation -- that's going to require some good steady rain, days worth of it. A tropical system is what we really need, not necessarily a hurricane, though!

2 comments:

Bettina Makley, aka Fairywebmother. said...

"The memory percolated in my poetry-making pot a while and this is the cup I brewed."

Nice poem, but this was my favorite line. *smiles*

Bob said...

Great poem, strong but sad... excellent work and definitely a memorable one.