Cuckoo
Far away in a
land torn with war,
she looked for a home.
She was not as pretty as
doves adorning lush gardens,
as exuberant as ducks to play
with,neither as useful as pigeons
in war. The lonely little cuckoo
flew from burnt trees to desolate
orchards. A black bird with yellow
spots on her feathers that other birds
found ugly. She looked for a home where
she'd be accepted for who she was. The
world hurled poisonous arrows at her.
Wounded, she fell in a garden waiting
to die until two little human hands
cocooned her. A girl nursed her agony
and made her feel loved. All her sorrow
began to melt and pour as rain on the fiery
land. She cried with her heart, her honeyed
voice, never heard before. The little girl danced
in joy and kissed her wings to let her fly but
little cuckoo sang to a world lost in pain, her
music blooming pink buds, rushing through
blue rivulets, swaying branches with
soothing wind, caressing parched souls,
raising spirits of warriors with hope.
She stayed for love, ecstatic
at her newfound lilac tune.
She'd found home
in a land
torn with
w ar to dr en ch
it wi th h e r
di vi ne s o ng.
July 11, 2020
Bird Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
~Winner: 1st Place
~Poem of the Day: July 13, 2020
~Ranked #3 in Best New Poems for July 2020
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