Little Bird

Pardon me,
Little Bird;
If you would be so kind.

When the time came for you to fly,
Were you ready to leave the nest?
Did you stand on the edge and jump,
Soaring through the sky with your newfound freedom?
Or did your mother pick you up in her beak,
And drop you from that towering oak into harsh reality?

When you were dropped did you learn quick?
Did you spread your wings and glide gently down?
Or did you fall?
Did you come crashing down into the forest floor far below?

When you crashed, what did your mother do?
Did she come and whisk you away to safety?
To nurse you until you were truly prepared?
Or did she leave you writhing below?
To teach you the world is a cruel, cruel place that waited for no one?

Little Bird,
What was it like to fall?
Was it scary?
Did your mother want the best for you?
What was it like to fly?
Was it fun?
Did you end up being okay after the excitement wore off?

Perhaps you can't answer me.
Maybe you're still down there among the dirt and twigs.
Perhaps you can't hear me.
Maybe you're still up there among the treetops and clouds.