The Falling Bird

It was dusk, late summer, the air was still, the night was soon to come
I glanced out to the patio deck, there stood an aging robin
I knew he saw me looking down, a predator no doubt
I even moved to catch his eye but he could not move about

Something was not right with him, or her, I didn’t know
No energy there, I understood, for also I am old
The body hunched, the shoulders drooped, the legs seemed half collapsed
I feel just like that far too often, he felt as I, perhaps

He turned his head from side to side for a panoramic view
Was he looking at the trees around, was there something that he knew
I felt it was his final hour, he’d not make a branch again
Yes, this would be his final eve, his life this night would end

It seemed as though he was content remembering of his days
From when he was a small blue egg of which his parents laid
He knew his time was almost done and yet he seemed content
To stand there on my patio, his body tired and bent

I watched him for at least an hour, he knew that I was there
I’d planned to give his death respect, and bury him somewhere
The average robin lives for just a year I understand
But this guy had seen two or three and now his time had come

And then he tried to hop away but his hops looked much like mine
His feet could barely leave the ground, another aging sign
He tried to hop again but seemed too tired and too weak
He stopped and settled in the grass accepting his defeat

He spread his wings and flapped them twice but never left the grass
He seemed to understand it all, his time had come at last
Yes this would be his final day, he’d surely die this night
Then the little bugger spread his wings and took off in full flight