In honour of the National Poetry Contest in the UK (theme: Home), I have stayed up late to write a true story-poem that I heard about last month.
Far From Home
The feathers of Gustav were ruffled,
but not in a floofified way.
A storm had appeared out of nowhere
and literally blown him astray.
He’d tried to keep track of his bearings
as gusts threw him hither and yon.
Alas, he’d no choice but surrender,
discouraged, bedraggled, forlorn.
Collapsing at last at a beach house,
dishevelled and feeling defeat,
he hoped that the end would come quickly.
He knew for a fact he was beat.
Although he could not see distinctly,
a shadow appeared from a height.
He thought that the end was approaching
but had no reserves left to fight.
His leg was being held by a stranger
who peered down through two glassy eyes,
then left with a whisper so soothing,
his heart skipped with fluttered surprise.
To help him, the stranger was phoning,
determining what should be done.
He learned that the bird had been racing
before the storm warning had come.
Directions were given for feeding
to care for this bird in a bind.
The stranger befriended the pigeon
and Gustav responded in kind.
So gradually Gustav grew stronger,
his feathers now shiny and sleek.
How lucky he was to recover
when fortune had seemed sad and bleak.
Exploring the island’s surroundings
by flying some distance away,
he returned to rest in seclusion
before setting out the next day.
For more than a week he persisted
until he set out at a pace
that welcomed him home to his nest box ~
at last he had finished the race!
Start of race September 11; arrived home September 27.
Distance of race approx 300 km ~ blown off course approx 75 km.
A photo that was sent to me of Gustav in the eaves, taking a break from scouting the skies after he recovered his strength.