Cutting The Cord (Poetry)

I must forget my cuckoo-child
she haunts my busy nest
untidies it — odd twigs turn wild
stray feathers stab my chest

I should turn out the spiteful chick
abandon love’s old egg
though living blood might prove as thick
I’ve lost the will to beg

It was the spring — I still had youth
and passion was my lot
the poisoned family tree is proof
high time the hen forgot