After The Hurricane. Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

The nest half gone, a scattered wreck,
The storm has stripped it, neck by neck.
The wood is torn, the metal twists,
A broken place that barely exists.

The sky is gray, a sullen hue,
The wind shouts loud, confused and new.
The morning light, a muted gray,
Can barely find its weary way.

The sunrise whispers, weak and dim,
A blurry sketch, a fading whim.
I look around at what remains,
Beyond the wreck, beyond the pains.

Some birds take flight by fixed command,
To seek a warmer, kinder land.
But I must choose where to begin,
With so much lost to keep within.

Is this enough—this broken start?
A weary soul, a heavy heart.
The blur of time, a hurried pace;
Should I remain or leave this place?

Do some not learn where best to be?
Is that the tale they tell of me?
The choice is mine, beyond the wall:
To build again, or let it fall.

The birds fly south, they know their way,
But I am stuck here for the day.
Or longer still, the choice is mine:
To stay and mend, or draw a line.

Can I rebuild with splintered wood?
will I survive, misunderstood?
The seasons turn, the shadows burn;
Please tell me, when will I ever learn?