The boy had watched

The boy had watched

The bird fly by

Several times that day

A pretty little thing, a Robin

So he had been told

By the old man

Who lived next door.

He always seemed to be

Sitting beneath the tree

That grew

At the bottom of his garden

An old Oak that had lived so long

It should have been dead

But it wasn’t.

It just kept on growing

A home to just about everything

Under the sun

Even the Squirrels capered

Up and down the branches

Along the clothes-line.

Hung upside-down

To steal the birdseed

From the feeder

Little bleeders he called them

Lounging in his rustic chair

Waiting for his daughter

To plump up the cushions.

The boy wondered

If the bird knew

He was a wonder

Of nature

Picking up the crumbs

He had laid out

On the wooden deck

Watching as it dipped its

Little beak tweaking its head

This way and that

In search of hidden predators.

How did it know it was safe

Perhaps the boy himself

Could pounce

Arms outstretched

Catch the little thing

In his hands

Cup them so as not to hurt him

Just to feel his warmth

Would that make him a bad person?

The old man

Seemed to understand

And whispered quietly,

If they trust you enough

To let down their guard

Never abuse it

It is the small things

You do now

That will make doing

The big things easier

In their turn

A small bird’s trust

Seems such a little thing

Clipping its wings

Denying its need to be free

Would be so easy

But ask yourself

Would it be right?

The boy shook his head

He had forgotten his place

On the ladder

He would get bigger, stronger

Soon he would outgrow this place

But the bird would remain

In this small green space

For all its days.

Even the old man

Would no longer, wander

His time was all but done

And yet

He still cared enough

To make him wonder

What he could do with himself

Tomorrow

And all the long summer days

That may come after.