I was deeply honoured by my children yesterday on my birthday. This poem was part of that.
My father, how can I express
my deep respect for you when I
am blessed beyond all laws of words?
As I recline and hear the birds
of spring sing out a hymn of earth,
I feel their wordless song is worth
far more as praise than paltry speech,
so I shall let them trill and teach
me how to tell you of my love.
You see that crow that flies above
your head? His voice is coarse and raw,
his feathers dark and matte, but caw
and dullness hold no cares: he flies
because his father gave him rise,
and showed to him the tricks of air,
the thrust of wing, with loving care.
Above the crow the eagle glides,
and soars because his father guides
his wingtips, even after years
of solitary flight. He steers
just as his father did, and when
he settles down to nest again,
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