- Aug 19, 2011
- 1,549
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This is a cute poem I found about a chick hatching.
Grown to big for his skin,
and it grown hard,
without a sea and atmosphere--
he's drunk it all up--
his strength's inside him now,
but there's no room to stretch.
He pecks at the top
but his beak's too soft;
though instinct and ambition shoves,
he can't get through.
Barely old enough to bleed
and already bruised!
In a case this tough
what's the use
if you break your head
instead of the lid?
Despair tempts him
to just go limp;
Maybe the cell's
already a tomb,
and the beginning end
in this round room.
Still, stupidly he pecks
and pecks, as if from under
his own skull--
yet makes no crack...
No crack until
he finally cracks,
and kicks and stomps.
What a thrill
and shock to feel
his little gaff poke
through the floor!
A way he hadn't known or meant.
Rage works when reason won't.
When locked up, bear down.
~May Swensen
Grown to big for his skin,
and it grown hard,
without a sea and atmosphere--
he's drunk it all up--
his strength's inside him now,
but there's no room to stretch.
He pecks at the top
but his beak's too soft;
though instinct and ambition shoves,
he can't get through.
Barely old enough to bleed
and already bruised!
In a case this tough
what's the use
if you break your head
instead of the lid?
Despair tempts him
to just go limp;
Maybe the cell's
already a tomb,
and the beginning end
in this round room.
Still, stupidly he pecks
and pecks, as if from under
his own skull--
yet makes no crack...
No crack until
he finally cracks,
and kicks and stomps.
What a thrill
and shock to feel
his little gaff poke
through the floor!
A way he hadn't known or meant.
Rage works when reason won't.
When locked up, bear down.
~May Swensen
