The Stork Arrives and Departs
By John Herlihy

The stork comes in for a landing,
Like an angel on the horizon standing.
Wings outspread as if in levitation,
Head bowed as if offering invitation.
Fanning the air in quiet surveillance,
Before settling down at her convenience.
Storks are supposed to bring good luck,
First you dream, then the dream comes unstuck,
Into a reality for the first time to behold,
Telling of adventures never before told.

Her nest precariously atop a church steeple,
In the 19th century French village square.
In her perch she ponders below the people,
Who idle away in cafes their time to spare.
Her maternal gaze takes in the multitude,
As if she has never seen such images before.
In shaking her body, she ruffles her feathers,
Before taking flight again into the clouds of yore.
Soaring aloft over the life of the village,
As if to make escape from a crime of pillage.

To imagine for a moment how fugitive she felt,
To trace no touch to be found in her feathery pelt.
A study of pure weightlessness captured in sight,
The forces of gravity lost in the miracle of flight.
Oh, how the magnificent bird simply soars aloft,
Wush-a-wesh-a-wish-wish with feathers oh so soft.
Without further ado, the bird flies into the unknown,
As if she well knows where she’s going on her own.
Down below, one old man lifted up his café au lait,
To admire a child bearer’s flight in such noble display.