The Grebe and the Cat

Upon an autumn’s trail I’ve found
too odd and strange an acquaintance,
a cat and grebe paired face to face
relaxed and in repose,
comparing notes of season’s change
and summer’s last remittance,
conversing deep in subtle tones,
two friends here, I suppose.

The cat an elderly tabby,
scarred from years of living wild,
the grebe with strong appointed brow,
yet mannerisms mild.

Upon my frozen stance they stared,
me in my surprise,
how could man’s wisdom dare compare
to such a meeting wise.

They did not move, but simple gesture
requested I not barge in,
with nod and smile I backed me up
till the two quietly conversed again.

Now could it be in autumn’s magic
my ears and eyes deceived?
as quietly I stood and stared,
their conversation I perceived.

The cat recited Aesop’s story
of the crane and wolf and a bone so stuck,
that from the depth of the wolf’s keen jowls
the crane reached in and the bone did pluck.

The cat went on to warn the grebe
that nature’s law shall be upheld,
and so the wolf did eat the crane
while in his beak the bone he held.

The grebe shook his head and claimed,
“above nature’s law few friendships made,
but you and I are one exception”,
and so sat down in autumn shade.

I stood in distant disbelief,
how could a friendship as this endure?
The cat, wild and cantankerous
would love to eat the grebe, for sure.

But there they sat in kind repose,
enjoying autumn’s calming prize,
and I returned upon my path,
wrapped in the knowledge of friendship wise.

Eagle's Distance

Distance twixt the moon and eye
of eagle, where such coursers fly,
the expanse of sparrow’s small foothold
to eagle’s nest, where values told
in stories of a childhood making,
fat with love, elixir’s baking
deep the sense of truths unknown,
but held within, till later shown
that sparrow’s life is all perception…

Of what the eagle calls and soars,
young sparrow strives and so adores
the fabric of the stories’ tale.
But since in flight, small sparrow sails
at levels suited for his wings,
yet in his heart desire sings
to soar beyond the clouds above,
along with eagle, along with love,
but the distance fixed by wing’s inception…

But sparrow’s come in every size,
hearts tall, and some otherwise,
find singing at a sparrow’s height
the perfect mix of sun and flight.
Some relay in anger born
where from the distance eagle’s torn
a nest upon a craggy peak,
lash out in disdained sparrow speak,
till what the sky yields in return
belays the sparrow, so in turn
denies the truth of sparrow’s wings,
turns angry, calls from where he sings,
hides the joy of sparrow’d flight,
and holds him to a lesser plight,
denied the heart of his conception…

So in honor eagle soars
above the quiet forest floor,
seeks solitude in reclusive height,
in hopes to treat sweet sparrow right
through distant love, no stories told,
alone on winds near mountains hold,
echoes cries in sad remorse
for tales that skewed a sparrow’s course,
so seeks a distant living,
that his is best when love he’s giving
is called from distant heavens…