Instinct
I am tired
Like the frightened finch
Who nervously leapt
From his springtime nesting
With wings wildly flapping
Losing feathers
Flitting furiously he stayed aloft
In exhausted purgatory, terrified
His little heart racing
His dangling feet flailing, frantic
Only inches from his resting spot
With bits of twine and twig
Still stuffed deep and spilling
From his tiny beak, muted
Unable to sing or scream or speak
He could not complete his work
Or even warn the others
His only option was to hover
Madly in midair
Watching, biding, wasting time
Until he could decide
Whether it was better to abandon
His half-built home
Or, tired, fight his fear
And light
-a.r.
Image found on Pinterest, artist unknown
sometimesihatemycat 