Blood runs through it

It not very often that a man can see

such a sight as this little nest in a tree

woven among branches, for free.

An ole fella showed it to me.



One of those rusty little robin mamas hath done this;

She been hoppin around on grass

pluckin up worms and strands and God only knows

what all she be extractin for these little critters to eat.



Why just a little while back

when I was achin for spring to pop out

she come hoppin around like she own the place.

Now look what she done.



As I look at this wonder in the tree

three little miracles do I see:

that tweeky yellow beak, fully formed it seems to me,

quite prickly in the midst of that soft bird infancy,



and a fat vessel where birdie's red blood I see

in this miniscule critter balled up in sibling idiocy

as these clueless hatchlings await their turn

to grab from mama beak a big fat worm,

or two.

Who knew?



And number three wonder is the vigilant care

with which mama robin hath woven this nest so fair.

She must really love them little critters in there,

dispensing her care from out of thin air.



Now somewhere deep in my memory

someone said only God can make a tree;

now I'm amazed he grew this tree here for me

so I can view such new life from mama birdie.



Glass Chimera