THE WOUNDED LOON
by ANDREW DOUGLAS

There once was a loon

You've all heard her tune

She'd circle the lake at night

'Till a bit later on

She couldn't prolong

Something that she knew was right

 

This call from below

(A constant bellow)

Told her to do what she soon did

But it came with a cost

Not just the mother was lost

For there still remained a loon kid

 

He grieved a month's worth of days

A fixed, yet soft gaze

And willingly let the thoughts churn him

Watching the water just flow

Like Muir or Thoreau

Helped him ponder what few come to terms with

 

He learned the lake doesn't care

It's neither here nor there

So why then is this unique?

If he wants only his mother

And nothing else other

Then what's left to circle or seek?

 

That night he plunged to the depths

With no hint of regrets

To return the embrace of the pond

Perhaps buried in black

There's nothing to lack

But you can't know until you are gone

 

Suddenly, a man on the shore

Who could stand by no more

Leapt up and sped to the rescue

He strove in the lagoon

With a big wooden spoon

Fighting back cold and the fescue

 

Then dove deep as he could

For he felt it was good

To help out this poor drowning soul

Though driven by valiance

You can't tip the balance

If nature refuses the goal

 

He reached the spoon out

To fish the loon out

But it wasn't as he had assumed it

The bird doth reject

The man gawked, perplexed

For he knew not what the wounded loon did

 

See, the moon could not show

All 'twas hidden below

But the view of the bird's eyes illumined

Can't fall for the trap

For there's not such a gap

Between this loon n' human

AUTHOR BIO:

Andrew is a Canadian musician, poet, and freelance writer. He currently writes for Heliconia (PaddleTV/Epic Trails), as well as WorldAtlas. Commonly explored themes in his poetry include nature, spirituality, and the quirks of existence. Find more at: middlesidemusings.wordpress.com