the mother of all songbirds
chatters away above
their cacophony,
her shrill tweets
outpacing even
the most diligent mouths
as they call out,
beaks wide open,
begging for food,
begging for love.

she flaps her wings
and darts around them,
her song more urgent,
its notes bolting into the sky
like flashes of lightning,
blinding everyone
with her circle of absorption,
feeding no one,
loving no one.

perhaps she’ll hear
(before it’s too late)
the beauty of their song,
perhaps she’ll see
(before they’re totally blind)
the urgency of their needs.
but until she learns
to think instead of tweet,
they will wait,
their mouths open,
ready for the quiet wings
of the song she keeps inside.