poem: the little bird

some where some time some how
a little bird was born.
and wasn’t it amazing?
that she should be born on that particular branch
on that particular tree
on that particular hill?
i mean she could have been born on the tree next to it
or on the ledge by jane’s window sill.
but no.
she was born where she was.
exactly there.
to two proud parents.
proud and busy parents.
how they flew.
to and fro to and fro to and fro.
bringing worms, butterflies, bugs.
and the little bird grew.
and soon she could see beyond.
at first a little beyond her own beak.
then a little beyond her branch.
and then the sky.
and then more sky.
and more.
but what after?
she burnt with that question.
what after?
i have just got to find out
she thought.
i have to see beyond
she thought.
and she flapped her wings hard
as she strained her neck to look
further and further and further
until one day she flew
straight towards the sky
at last.
and in the joy of her flight
forgot all about what she wanted to fly for.
and she became just another bird.
flying in a sky that was enough for her.