Seldom Harmless (Poetry)

It was an oak, thick-waisted, weathered, old
and round it span an iron, thin-slatted seat
we climbed upon — perched there in sandalled feet
to see a blackbird’s nest. The cock bird bold
and clucking out a warning as we peered
into his leafy world. Awed, we crept back down
and proved to be not quite the threat he feared.

I’d like to think the blackbirds feeding from our sill
might be descended from the one witnessed long ago.
The oak is gone and nothing now remains to even show
it ever lived, and I had forgotten the whole episode until
this morning I heard the cry again, his message shrill
and I would agree that he had more than good reason
during this most fragile newborn season
for wild things know how few men mean no harm.