When Little Birds Will Sing Again

The shell has newly been discarded.

Now the baby bird’s begun

To follow where her mother goes

And leave the nest to brave the sun.

For though their home seems safe today,

Tomorrow brings uncertainty.

The mother knows they cannot stay,

And so she leads her babe away,

Traversing what the paths may be

Where other mothers brought their young

Over field and under tree

To a stream where songs are sung

Of safer lives and greater harmony.

But sometimes songs are not reality.

Upon arriving at the stream

And crossing to an unfamiliar land,

A falling hand awakes a scream

As it plucks the babe from off the sand

And traps it in a cage

Where other captive children wait,

Uncertain what the future’s page

Will soon reveal about their fate.

The mother wishes to assuage

The fear her little one is feeling,

But she is barred from coming near

And offering a bit of healing.

I cannot say, with conscience clear,

The falling hand’s in no way linked to me.

It claims to act for my security.

For where’s the danger in these baby birds

Who simply wish to sing their mothers’ words?

So I will sing my little rhyme

As clearly as I can

To call our hearts, until a time

Shall come when little birds will sing again.

This poem is about an issue that's been on my mind for a long time. It was a major news story several months ago, but I think more recent events have pushed it out of the public focus.