The Bird (A Poem)

Poetry / Monday, February 12th, 2018

Oh, bird,

how do you do it?

You wait and wait

to get what you want,

never flapping your wings out of frustration.

I watch you breathing;

we have that much in common, at least.

You look around

when a dog barks,

or when someone walks by,

but apart from that,

you are far more skilled than I.

How long did it take you

to acquire such divine patience?

Born with it, no doubt.

It’s icy cold out here,

yet your complaining I don’t hear.

You just get on with it.

“It’s part of it,” I want to hear you say,

“It’s the fun of the play.”

But you don’t.

You’re too focused on the hunt at hand… talon.

Impatience doesn’t get the better of you,

because you know that by hurrying

you will scare away the worm.

Teach me.

Teach me how to hunt,

without getting carried away

by the thought of success.

Teach me how to hunt,

in a way that leaves nothing but acceptance for the hunt.

Teach me how to get the worm

so I’m not thinking about the next worm,

before this one has even showed its head.

And then you look at me,

our eyes are locked,

and I’m sure you say:

“What’s hunting?”


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