A test of true determination to land in the middle of the road.
To expect the cars to slow down and wish you away.
The thoughts you must have as a car zooms by and you must fly to safety.
Your friends scurry off the road, and you meet in the trees, your only safe place now.
They call me stupid. But we both know why I stop for birds.
Why squirrels must successfully cross the street before I drive on.
They have forgotten that we share this land together.
They forget to look you in the eyes and remember the days they stopped for birds.
When spring began summer with red cheeks and love.
When they tell me to keep driving, they forget the innocence,
All the unknowing that new drivers have. We don't know how fast you can move.
How, even though we share this land, you know where you belong.
That's sick, isn't it?
YOU ARE READING
Why I Stop For Birds
PoetryIt's easy to forget history if we are barely taught it. It's easy to forget America was stolen from people here long before us. Winners write history, and losers stop for birds.
