Her Name Was Faith

For three weeks the robin sat

On her one egg, shuddering

In heat haze, her mouth open

In perhaps some silent prayer

Not so different from my own. 

What we call natural instinct

Is another name for devotion.

 

This morning I find the bare

Shriven hatchling in a bush

Beneath the nest, the robin

Hovering above it and then

Nudging it with her beak,

The featherless child folded

In wings that will never fly.

 

Such devotion does not die,

And I remember the small

Pink coffin and calla lilies,

The unbearable weight of it,

The place to which it went

And the many it left behind,

Holding our love and our Faith.

 

 





Poetry by countryfog The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 417 times
Written on 2011-07-03 at 17:49

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la tristesse
The parents' worst nightmare. Now I have my own offspring, this means so much. I shall hold her close tonight in honour and lieu of your being able to do it to your own. Shit, I don't know what else to say
2011-07-05


Leovinus The PoetBay support member heart!
Beautiful and sad words.

Such devotion does not die ..
2011-07-05


ken d williams The PoetBay support member heart!
Robin , the humanbeing , both mothers , their pain the same.
Ken
2011-07-03


ANUPAM
There are many things that remind you of old grief,but one does not stop believing.When things seem to fall apart,only belief can sustain you.My language sounds so childish compared to yours,but I cant really put into words what your poem evokes,sadness and hope, both I think.It shows your essence as apoet
2011-07-03