The Eagle and the Chickens
(a
poetic adaptation of an anonymous story, 1977 by Judy Nelson)
One
day I worked in meadow and field.
The
soil I plowed and planted and tilled.
My
mind was on matters far from this ground.
When
fluttering, struggling, an eaglet I found.
How
had she wandered so far from her home?
Her
parents not near, she was lost and alone.
Mostly
just stunned, her wounds were not bad.
She
didn't fight, but was tired and sad.
I
carried her back to my home-fire near.
To
tend to her wounds and allay any fear.
My
chickens adopted her into our coop.
Food
and protection with this motley group.
The
days passed quickly and she grew strong.
Soon
ready to fly back where she belonged.
She
learned to scratch and peck and scratch.
These
poultry, not nearly her match.
Proud
she grew, but still stayed on…
I
knew her wings were sufficiently strong.
Had she forgotten how to fly?
To hover regally through the sky?
I
wondered what's wrong, then sought to try
To
coax this young eagle now to fly.
"Fly
little eagle, up to that blue!"
At
last I caught my aristocrat creature,
And
took her where the mountains could teach her.
"Other
eagles live here," I told her, "I know."
Then
urged her again, "You've got to go."
"Rise
to your talent, you gained at your birth."
"Rise
up from the fence, the coop, and the earth."
"Fly,
little eagle", I eagerly cried.
Nudged
her, encouraged. She finally tried.
Proudly,
she soared, first to the tree.
Then,
to the cliff, then back to me.
"Go
on," I urged. "You CAN
arise!"
Then,
joyfully, she flew up to the skies.
Up
past the trees and circled from view.
I
knew you could do it. Little eagle, I
knew.
