A Myth Untrue

A Myth Untrue

 

1939

 

Salem Massachusetts, U.S.A.

 

Intro-

 

Do not fly too close to skyward.

Do not wing o’er seas of foam.

No hot air balloons in my words.

No truthfulness within this gnome.

 

The tale-

 

His call appeared to be a love song

that he sang too late.

Yet, in the valley of his heartstrings 

she became his “always” mate.

 

Salem, Ma. to Quebec, Canada

 

He was a Hermit Thrush and she a Nightingale.

Both for sale !. . . and thus begins our exciting tale.

 

In a dodgy bird shop they were on the same aisle. 

He would sing his songs to her and she was beguiled. 

 

When shoppers crowded the walkway they blocked his view.

He would not see her again until they all passed through.

 

Soon, when they cleared, he saw that she had disappeared.

Sold to a fat Englishman with a ginger beard.

 

A whiskey peddler that owned a pub in London

whose rival owned a Lark… and not to be outdone?

 

As she was borne away, Thrush's valley filled with rain.

Fate had split these love birds and their hearts bled with pain.

 

Then, his voice went silent, no chatting and no song.

Time to escape this place and find where she has gone.

 

When his cage was opened, and the hand was too slow

he swooped through an exit and flew for the meadow.

 

"How can I find her?" he heard his inner self say.

A trek to London for love, was his only way.

 

With his short range he could not cross the open sea.

Thus, he chose a northern route, though it was risky. 

 

His magnetic instincts told him to fly northeast

and then, toward the big island of ice to the east.

 

His migratory norms, he would need to bury.

Flying in the daylight would be necessary.

 

It was May of the year nineteen and thirty nine

when he began his quest from atop a white pine.

 

Quebec, Canada to Nunavut, Canada

 

Our Hermit Thrush flew by night as a way to begin.

By morning he was in Quebec, St. Antonin.

 

Three hundred miles of flying, he would need to rest 

for seven, maybe ten days to be at his best.

 

Before long, he was well on his way and would land 

deep in Quebec at Rene Levasseur Island.

 

To think, the world’s second largest in-land island 

would serve as a B & B for our avian.

 

In this paradise he heard the call of a thrush

and again, hiding out beneath the underbrush.

 

A female, one that he might be attracted to

but his loving heart said no, that would be untrue.

 

Four more flights across Quebec to Inuit land 

and Cape Dyer, where he would cross into Greenland.

 

He had felt as though days were stretching the sunlight

but this far North, at Cape Dyer, there were no nights.

 

Some days later, he saw seals basking in the Sun.

Curious, he wandered nearer to have some fun.

 

A seal pup lashed out at him. He scurried away

but was sure he could get this weird creature to play.

 

As he neared the seal pup its Mama intervened.

Massive as she was, she was every bit as mean.

 

She lunged and barked at him while chasing him away.

No play today, better to live another day.

 

Nunavut, Canada to Greenland

 

Soon, it was time for him to get back to his trek. 

He swiftly flew two hundred miles to Itilleq.

 

He cringed, there were few insects and fewer berries. 

Instinct sent him inland to where he found blueberries.

 

This allowed him to prepare for his two long flights

each past three hundred miles over ocean and ice..

 

After ten eternal days he was strong and fit

and safely flew the lengthy distance to Kuummiit.

 

On the East side of Greenland things could be bleak

but the good news was that blueberries were at peak.

 

He made his new home hidden in a berry shrub.

All was well until “they” showed up with a small tub.

 

Two young girls picking berries for the entire town.

They began collecting at his shrub. He stayed down.

 

They made strange noises and then, they reached for him.

He burst from the bush, full of vigor and vim.

 

They were still making those noises only more dour.

They had taken everything he wished to devour.

 

He pecked at the remnants that were left on the ground.

Then, “they” returned and a dish of berries set down.

 

Daily, ‘til he was gone, he enjoyed the same feast

but he had to go to the island in the east.

 

Greenland to Iceland

 

Iceland was a paradise in early August

The insects and berries, at that time, were robust.

 

He slowly crossed the island, feeding as he went.

He reached Hofn, on the east coast, feeling content.

 

In Hofn he rested for his extensive flight

to the Faroe Islands, where there might be some night.

 

Iceland to Faroe Islands, Denmark

 

Refreshed, he made the three hundred and twenty miles

to Vagur, on the southmost of these Danish isles.

 

There, he saw four-legged wooly creatures galore

but they hadn’t seen anything like him before.

 

All was fine until he was encircled by them

and he had to go skyward to escape a scrum.

 

Faroe Islands, Denmark to Scotland, U.K.

 

Soon, he was recharged and flew past the ferry boats

to readily make the journey to John O’ Groats.

 

Into mid-September, the days were shorter now

as were his flights and the days were cooler somehow.

 

It seemed a short trip to Newcastle-upon-Tyne

and his worries eased for he had passed the tree line.

 

He rested only two days and left in a whirr.

He flew into London town, but where to find her?

 

 For weeks, he was in the London parks, searching. 

Tonight, he would be in a Mayfair park, perching.

.

This parkland seemed interesting but very small

with few shrubs and the London Plane trees were too tall.

 

Still, there was only one young couple walking through.

Thus, to a low branch of a London Plane, he flew.

 

Unseen, a bearded publican with a large gut

freed a Nightingale as his wife slammed the door shut.

 

The bird flew to a limb on a London Plane tree.

Hearing a call, she perched next to the singing He.  

 

The male Nightingale sang and that’s when Thrush saw her.

One tree next, but there was this other male with her.

 

He knew what to do, he broke his silence and sang.

She heard his voice and noted his Hermit Thrush twang.

 

She flew to him while the other male stayed singing.

His Nightingale voice sounded like a bell tinkling.

 

The couple stopped their stroll through the park to listen.

They were intrigued and were, maybe, musicians?

 

Then, they continued their walk in the cool night air 

as a Nightingale sang in Berkeley Square 

and a Hermit Thrush and mate took off as a pair.