Repaid

REPAID by Doug Stoiber Out walking on a mindless errand, lost in thoughts of this and that I came upon a bleak tableau, cruel Nature in its direst test. A battered bird with broken wing, amid the weeds had come to rest. Within three paces, coiled to spring, a hungry feral cat. I gave the matter scarce concern; the bird was doomed, it seemed to me. If not the feline’s prey, it looked unlikely to survive the day As trembling, hobbled, flightless, on unsteady legs it could but sway. But turned to see me witness, in its eyes a mournful plea. The moment touched within my soul an instinct unexpected there. I bellowed, charging at the cat, who snarling, turned and fled the scene. Though just as startled by my rage, the bird froze right where it had been, Unsure if death would conquer it within the human’s snare. My errand placed on hold for now, I slowly knelt to grasp the wretch, It fluttered wildly, ‘til at last, within my palms it settled back. I sought a haven for the injured bird, a shelter from attack ‘Though in its wounded state, a quite immobile prey to catch. A shadowed ledge at window height, I placed the bird to rest awhile. With bottled water I had carried, poured a capful for its thirst. On cracker crumbs from in my pack, the wounded casualty I nursed. It ate, then seemed to sense a respite from its fearsome trial. And though near death, still found its voice, at first a purring warbled note, But soon burst forth with raucous air a symphony of trilling tones That stood my hairs on end and sent a thrilling shimmer to my bones. This music from a wounded bird became the poem I wrote.