Fledgling Bird At My Door Poem by Mark Heathcote

Fledgling bird where on earth do you hope to hop to
If you stretch your wings around my yard
After all this baking hot desert heat
Come evening surely you won't deny me your faith
Faith is a warm quilt blanket on a cold night
Is a fledgling requiring no angelic wings?
When its nesting days were long drawn out of sight.

Thus poets and songbirds they're much the same
If there's no muse! There's no train of thought
No flight of wings to launch or fly his/her kite
Instead of a flowing, weightless, moving quill
We'll have a paperweight run-of-the-mill verse
That can flap all it wants, but it'll never float or fly
It'll never absorb the meaning behind the why.

At worst, it'll just hop
Hop in and out of rhyme, hoping-also it too can fly.