A blackbird gathers twig and stem,
to nest her littles from mayhem
But I, being human, must weave instead
with living love and worlds I’ve read.
We build our nests of page and voice
of questions deep revealing choice
To go through life with blinders up
Or eyes made aware of the corrupt
Twigs will break, the nest left bare
but minds take flight on what we share.
The truest gift, the one that stays,
is giving wings through widened ways.
Let our nests be rich with views,
Braided ideas in many hues.
Let them read, let them decide
Unfettered love on which to glide.