Birds of a Feather

 

One summer
   I went every morning
      to the edge of a pond where
         a huddle of just-hatched geese
would paddle to me
 and clamber
      up the marshy slope
         and over my body,
peeping and staring–
    such sweetness every day
        which the grown ones watched,
      for whatever reason,
serenely.
   
Not there, however, but here
       is where the story begins.
            Nature has many mysteries,
some of them severe.
   
Five of the young geese grew
    heavy of chest and

bold of wing

while the sixth waited and waited
   in its gauze-feathers, its body
    that would not grow.
    And then it was fall.
 
And this is what I think
   everything is about the way
I was glad
for those five and two
    that flew away,
       and the way I hold in my heart the wingless one
     that had to stay.
 
 
( Mary Oliver )
 
 
~ Thank-you Sandy! ~
 
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