THE CHOSEN ONE
Nature may sometimes seem cruel – but are we not all guilty of protecting our own?
Amid birch top branches the Cuckoo sits surveying,
Eyes fiercely fixed upon the ‘Chosen One’.
Within seconds she swoops, this brood parasite,
Replacing the host egg with one of her own.
Marvelously mimicking the discarded one.
Shirking parental responsibility,
She drops the ‘Chosen One’ to the ground.
Shell crushed, this scrawny, unfeathered, yellow beaked monstrosity –
Its frog-like body twitching,
Eyes big, black, bulging,
Tiny heart pulsating,
Lies helpless on the ground.
Life only just beginning,
Too minuscule to move, to crawl away to die.
Even its own mother wont miss it!
Stupid, ignorant mother bird,
Don’t you know your baby needs you?
How can you be so easily fooled?
Surely you can see its bigger than your own.
Even you must feel a mother’s love.
Oh ‘Impostor’, when you hatch
And throw your siblings to the ground
Won’t you feel guilt?
Or are your murderous actions so inbred?
Is it in our breeding too?
Is this yellow-eyed, evil she-monster simply looking after her own?
Is she in fact being strong,
Sacrificing another to protect her own,
Giving the best possible start in life she can,
Turning her back on what she loves
For a better life – a better start?
Who are we to judge?
She dances in her silken dress of brilliant blue and smiles …..
Sometimes she adds an over-skirt of intricate patterned, whitest lace.
Different shades, mottled and confused, as tears fill her eyes and gently fall.
Dark, grey, rough fabric, course to touch and stiff to wear are soon replaced
By black, darkness dragged around,
Its hem caked in mud, as she mourns her gown of blue.
Gradually, tiny lights, shy at first, begin to twinkle
Decorating her gown with a thousand jewels!
Slowly her back begins to straighten and her dress begins to change
Into gold, orange and yellow, as her mourning lights begin to brighten –
Until once more she wears her gown of blue.
On a November Morning
Dogs need walking whatever the weather and on mornings when the weather is cold I sometimes dread venturing out. However, when mother nature puts on a display, as she had in this photograph, it is pure joy.
Mist hangs like a bride’s veil over the field,
I rub my eyes to rid them of sleep, to clear my view.
Trees, some standing statue-like, stiff, dark and bare,
others reluctant to let go their golden tresses,
enjoying their annual moment of fiery beauty!
They are admired as they pose,
like models, displaying autumnal colours.
Human tracks zigzag across dew-soaked grass,
like a child’s scribbling upon a pristine page.
Behind I see my own tracks criss-crossing others,
adding confusion to busy rush-hour tram-lines.
My boots squelch beneath my feet
as patterns from soles of unknown boots
create new pictures on muddied canvas.
Leaves once crisp and golden now lie sodden,
to be dragged down to their resting place,
nourishing the earth, until natures cycle begins again.
First frost of Winter.
Another of natures shows!
If you get up late you may miss it!