A fragment of the early spring
Perfect round imperfect nest
Had the bird been a creature
Of wisdom, she would have built
In the ceramic dish, not the plastic
The power of sails pushed fledglings
Onto the unyielding wooden surface
Opening and closing their beaks
I pick them up and try to save them
While the mother flies away.
___
JD DeHart blogs on spinrockreader.blogspot.com and has self-published poetry collections on Amazon. He has writing forthcoming in a variety of journals, and has recently appeared in Coffee Shop Poems and Steel Toe Review
