As
A
Fledgling
Young woman
I learned to settle,
To request so little from life.
According to my broken mother, happiness is
A bird in the hand, a roof over your head and bruises that gradually fade with time.
So, I told him stories about the flock flitting in the bush and taught him how to fly;
Yet, perched and eager on that branch, just about to soar,
His eye caught that of a house wren,
So demure and tame,
That his wings
Mattered
No
More.
