Submitting Poems

by Paul Van Peenen

Little fledglings, we push them
From the nest, knowing the odds
Are stacked against them.

Cats prowl, hawks circle.
Wind and rain darken the sky.

We retreat into our homes.
All that nurture, we mumble,
Wringing our hands --

All the while, steeling ourselves
Against the day we hear
That dreaded knock on the door

And their sad return, in body bags,
Wings bent, necks broken.