Hatchlings

Hatchlings

With mayflies leaving early
It’s hard to know what’s best
The pond’s becoming stagnant
With the pads and lilies gone
With early worms caught sooner
By birds that leave the nest
The rhythm is pragmatic
As their wings beat out a song

A melody of freedom
Resounding in the void
Echoes through the unknown
Yet muffled where I sit
Suspended ‘neath the water
In familiar straits I’m buoyed
A place to finally call home
Too long it takes to fit

A harvest that I cannot reap
Now maybe is the time
To wheel up my wagon,
Shift to some place real
Not dwell on things that can’t be
Bittersweet, so sour, lime
A time to fly with dragons
.. a time to break the seal