Two days ago, my father and I saw a robin hopping around the base of our old tree in our backyard. She was gathering dead gras-ses, and our first impression was that she had a nest somewhere nearby. A day later, we found her flying into the slightly split bushes in our front yard, placing the gras-ses down before settling into them. When we stepped out again and found out she had gone, we saw a tiny head hanging over the edge. It was still, but two others cheeped excitedly. The next day, the nest was silent, and the same head lay in the same position, silent as always. We feared it was dead, but didn't interfere with the nest. Later on, as we were leaving to bikeride, a flash of feathers flew across our yard and into the tree. A chorus of peeps filled the air, and we immediately, but quietly, stared at the bush. To our amazement, the tiny, unmoving head slowly lifted itself up and opened its mouth, joining its two siblings in the call for food.
The Motherhood
A flash of startling red,
Knowing what’s up ahead.
A flutter of feathers, tawny tan,
Excitement blossoms, and so we ran.
Gras-ses those are too thick to consume,
Collect in a beak ‘till there’s no room.
Dainty feet hop to the unseen,
Bright black eyes with a clever mean,
Take off to a darkened place,
Paying heed to a known case.
This is her motherhood;
That is their childhood.
Wings stretch against a pastel sky,
A sturdy form begins to fly.
Once her stalks are set around,
Speckled eggs are then found.
Three uncounted moments pas-s,
Three round eggs break in a mas-s.
Naked heads emerge to day,
Gaping beaks as if to say-
Motherhood has now begun,
With the setting of the sun.
Days pas-s and time beats a tune,
Each morning there’s a mother’s croon.
Baby down begins to sprout,
Stronger legs bring them about.
Soon they’ll use them how they want to,
They’ll be whoever they want to.
Childhood dwindles into the night,
Feathery wings prepare for flight.
Moon makes her round as so does the sun,
But alas, mother is not yet done.
A simple nudge from the nest,
Finally, the final test.
A squawk and a flap,
A caw and a slap.
Growing youths begin to fly,
As they will until they die.
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