The Nest

Anon

I spotted just by chance.

All summer long I knew
She had a nest to which she flew,
To raise babies, a squawking crew
Of starlings.

Her little darlings
Were up there
Somewhere
In that leafy glen.

She always seemed to know just when
I was searching.

I imagined her perching
Invisibly to my spying eye,
Trying my best to pry
Into her affair.

I knew the nest was there,
Because I found
A baby on the ground
Quite stiff and dead.

Downy feathers on its head
Indicated it was not too old;
Now just a body, wet and cold.

Its bulbous eyes and tiny beak
Would never see or speak
In raucous flavours
At its neighbours.

I recalled the previous night,
When wind and rain might
Have blown it out of the nest.

What of the rest?

Perhaps it wanted independence,
Taking off before transcendence.

Who knows
With crows.

I looked around for some others:
Baby sisters, baby brothers,
But finding none gave me a bit
Of consolation thinking it
Might have been the only one
The storm had killed.

I wasn’t thrilled
About possibilities
Of babies tossed out of trees.

Hypothermia does-in the chick,
So I’ve read. It’s really quick.

But, a certain sadness still prevailed.
Staring at the baby that failed
To reach maturity,
Thus dying in obscurity.

Were the parents at all concerned
About the wayward child who spurned
The safety of that twiggy nest,
While she diligently fretted with the rest?

Of course!
But what recourse?

With Mother Nature, that’s expected.
The remaining family was not neglected;
Not much she could do about it.

She did her best. She won’t rue it.

Then I mused with reflection,
That through no dereliction
Of theirs, some human Dads and Moms
Begat daughters and/or sons
Bereft of internal pride,
Are inclined to slow suicide.

Persistently, by drugs and HIV,
They pursue a life of promiscuity.

Their parents, duly, feel ashamed,
Concluding, wrongly, they are blamed
For their child’s stupidity.

All the parents wanted for he or she
Was: Be an asset to the community.

What has happened in the scene
Which destroys some parents’ dream
For their mid-teen child,
So irrevocably wild?

Any discipline there might be,
Brings the intrusive ‘Society’,
Carrying all its writs and warrants,
But no intention to help the parents,
Leaving them with a bigger mess!
What happens now? No one can guess.

Frantic parents who can’t be bosses
Will have to learn to cut their losses.

Should a child decry: “I’ll run away!”
Should be countered by: “I wish you’d stay,
But, if not, I hope you’re right.

Please, don’t forget to write.

We’ve tried our level best with you:
Computer, travel, your clothes are new;
Always with the best intent.

Nothing done was ever meant
To intone any disrespect.

Guess it was not what you expect.

By the way, please give some thought
The kind of flowers for your plot.

It’s premature to speak of graves,
But you’d be surprised how much time it saves
In times of strife
When a lovely life
Has gone for naught.

Oh well, t’was just a thought.

Excuse me please, I’ll be right back.

We’ll go upstairs. I’ll help you pack.”

Lots of parents will disagree,
And doom themselves to misery,
Trying to hold the family ‘mercury’.

No governmental decree
Will e’er replace the loving family
And its rightful legitimacy.

So it was, with flicking hand,
I tossed the bird in the can.

I suppose, in some differential way,
That bird reflected society today.

Anon -

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