You spend an evening among feathers
Bobbing and swaying in particular postures.
Speaking through dancing and singing
Body language is universal.
A cock of the head is the same all the same.
He keeps his feathers low in apologetic
She does not heed his idle action
Fluffing to more self notions
Of preening; alone.
He is glad she is alive
Glad they are safe.
When apart he screams in agony
Searching for his only flock member.
Selfish she does not return his desperate calls;
Too accustomed to the human ways
Of seeing the world through selfish eyes.
Upon her return he sings songs without
A proper metronome.
Lowering his upper body extending gratitude;
Flattening his feathers and crest;
Fully exposing his frail stature.
Alas, she was only glad
To indulge with the humans,
While he with broken wings
Hopes one day, to fly.
Comments about this poem (Seeds by Emily Beck )
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