So many superstitions,
In so many cultures.
Good and bad events,
Visions of Doves or Vultures.
This thought came to me.
In my mind did unfold.
I found a Junco Bird,
Stuck in my wood stove.
I was about to lite a fire.
To keep the house warm.
Instead, an ashy figure,
A feathered dark form.
I soon realized,
I looked through the glass.
Bird flew into the chimney,
Where I’d put the wood stack.
I thought of the fear,
Of impending death.
Superstitious burden,
On my house was left?
When a small feathered bird,
Flies inside a house,
Could be Sparrow or Titmouse,
Birds smaller than a Grouse.
But this poor little Junco,
Flew into the stove,
No open door or window,
Inside he then dove.
Nevertheless, into action.
Saved the sooty bird.
Reached in and grabbed him,
In my grasp, he squirmed.
Opened the cellar window,
He then flew away.
Far from my chimney,
I hope he will stay.
Lit a match to the kindling,
Heat and flames towards the draft,
Threw in some small logs,
Closed the door, clipped the latch.
Fire’s going great,
And, I began to think.
I’ll install some screen,
Small holes of chain link.
The irony was then clear,
The superstition was right.
Stopped impending death,
For the Junco Bird that night.