The Purple Heron

Memories bubbled up
Of her brief childhood
Silent observations
Of purple heron
Who visited the pond outside
Always a private thrill
When they departed
Floated in quietude
Into dawn’s mist

Then came the day of her own departure
Barely age three
Pushed out of the nest
Another young sacrifice
For the good of the world

Soon a dim image
From those who bestowed life
She met many others
Exactly like her
None of them spoke
Of their distant origins
In the night she would hear
The floods of tears
Shed privately
In the darkness

All of them learned
By repetitious methods
How to fly through the air
With stoic panache
How not to cry
When failure beckoned
She awaited the day
To become a purple heron
Dance on the clouds
Appreciate her solitude
Pray for a row of perfect tens