I lift, I try, I try to fly
My wings I flex to do those tricks
My mother does, my father does
But I’m still just a ball of fuzz.

I know you’re s’posed to flap a bit
To work those muscles, not just sit
But here I stay, feet on the ground
My wings I think must be unsound.

They’re stumpy, there’s no doubting it
They’ve no real feathers I admit
But maybe if I flex them lots
My wings will grow and you’ll see what’s

The outcome when I grow  so tall
With feathers  great and neck so long
I’ll be a fine fellow with a honking call
And you’ll look at me and be enthralled

And we won’t recall this little bit
When wings are wrong and just don’t fit
Will we?

Verse and photo copyright Englepip©


4 thoughts on “Stumpy

  1. It’s funny to think about what goes through the heads of baby animals, human or otherwise. What do little ones think about what their parents do? We all learn by copying the actions of those taking care of us. Do you think animals experience the same frustration that children do when they try their best but don’t achieve the same outcome as their parents? I think that, to some extent, they do, just as your poem suggests.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I am sure that animals are in some way sentient beings and although I don’t know if they can think and feels we do, you only have to watch the way some of the young behave to know they definitely feel that frustration!

      Liked by 1 person

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