Written on my patio in Latchi, Cyprus.

The Struggle

Sitting outside reading, I heard a thump in the grass.
Something had fallen from the sky.
A small bird? My first thought seemed unlikely.
But then, yea, it moved!
A tiny little thing of a bird, pink skin showing through with
but little plumage to speak of.
It’s tiny beak held wide open, whether to be fed or calling
for its mother one can only guess.
For one so small to have made such an audible thump, it clearly
hit with harsh impact. A failed early attempt at flying.
Did it leave the nest willing? Was it pushed by its mother?
Or did some other creature chase it from the safety of home?
The scene was cute and sweet and showed the wonder of nature.
As the little bird regained its strength, it started walking,
nay prancing, through the grass. Its little wings stretched and extended.
Could these small things really make this creature fly?
The bird flapped its wings and moved about, yet the ground
was not to be left behind.
A scene once hopeful started to look grim.
I had set aside my book earlier to just watch and urge
on this young creature, trying to survive its first major struggle.
I was poised to cheer once I saw those flapping wings take flight.
Alas, this is not what I was seeing.
As the efforts were clearly waning, the young bird seeming
to lose hope and energy,
I found myself calling forth to the bird loudly,
“Fly little guy, come on flap those wings, you can do it!”
Thence came a wild and rapid flutter of the young one’s wings.
It had clearly heard my pleading and was energized to take flight.
While it appeared to be an impressive show of young avian ability,
this was not apparently enough… For after this flurry of wing flapping
did not produce any loft, all movement was stopped.
Farewell
small
bird.