A Whiff of Vicissitude

Waking, Walking, Singing, in the Next Dimension? 1979 by Morris Graves

Frail and obedient,

that used to be me.

Silent, unquestioning,

always following.

But, when I took a sip

of the nectar dew on

one green stalk

that afternoon.

My little wings sliced the air,

my beak glistened against the sunset’s last rays.

I flew higher, faster.

Unrestricted.

Emotions bred actions

that I desire.

I turned selfish,

yet still frail.

Dazzling,

dainty.

I became,

with you.

*Written for the Magpie Tales