Oh, how alone the little birds must feel right at the edge! <br /> <br />Having to make that salient leap for the first time; <br />having to let go and then flap and flap incessantly, <br />until something works out and you begin to soar. <br /> <br />A little bird is nudged out, pushed out by the nest <br />with strict instructions for every blooming moment <br />that its unskilled wings can expect to encounter. <br /> <br />But how can unskilled wings survive when <br />in their eyes something is getting closer and closer? <br />Oh, the pain that must well up and these times <br /> <br />of confusion! Even beauty is cloaked in it. <br />How can Splat! Splat! Splat! occur? <br />When the morning sun suggests otherwise.<br /><br />Seán O Muiríosa<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-the-edge-3/
