by Candice Ann Moraga

They say “birds of a feather flock together”
It is with this in mind, that I break this tether

For, though this pond is thoroughly stocked
With many a swan, which together, have flocked

There remains a pariah, lurking near shore
No, not the ugly duckling of lore

But, rather, a bird of motley mix
Adaptability… is one of her tricks

She displays the hues of many a breed
For her, GROWTH is an intense need

Nurturing the chicks which arose from her den
She bears the feathers of a mother hen

Breaking, at times, away from the herd
She coos, and she cuddles, the wifely lovebird

Accomplished musician, with piercing wail
The lovely strains of the nightingale

Like the peacock, colours of a multitude
Surprising those around, with vicissitude

With an eagle’s vision, she soars and takes flight
She has learned to lead, with gifted foresight

But now she must migrate, like a Canadian goose
She knows when to stay, and when to cut loose

For now, she realizes, deep in her pith
That- like the bird… of legend… and myth

When engulfed, immersed, consumed by flame
She emerges renewed, though not the same

Escaping her grave, her soul she must save
Onward to her future, optimistic and brave