Sunday Stanza: Chicks in a Cardboard Box

In April’s thaw, when pastures green
Begin to pierce the frost between,
And robins sing with springtime cheer—
That’s when the baby chicks appear.

A cardboard brooder, heat lamp’s glow,
Newspaper lined in tidy rows,
A chorus starts—so soft, so sweet—
A peeping sound beneath my feet.

Each morning, I would kneel and tend,
A caretaker, a guardian, a tiny friend.
I learned their ways, their fragile signs,
With mash and drops and poultry rhymes.

They’d sip, then raise their heads in prayer—
A skyward gulp of basement air.
I’d watch, wide-eyed, with earnest grace,
As feathers sprouted into place.

But some grew weak, and some grew still,
And tears would come against my will.
In mourning, truth came into view—
Life births both joy and sorrow, too.

Soon came the eggs, in gentle hues—
A basket filled with nature’s muse:
Green like spring, and red like clay,
Soft brown kissed by the break of day.

And in my dreams, I’d lift and glide,
Above the coop, the field, the tide
Of earthbound things that longed for flight—
Their wings too short, their grip too tight.

I’d join the birds, the eagles proud,
And soar beyond the cotton cloud,
Returning at the morning light
To chores and school and boots pulled tight.

But now, as years have flown their course,
And time has run its steady force,
I find those moments still remain—
Like sunlit drops of April rain.

A chick’s soft peep, the scent of hay,
A mountain creek that sings all day—
These simple gifts, so often missed,
Are where life’s deeper meaning twists.

So, may we greet the world once more.
With open hearts and eyes that soar,
With wonder, care, and ears to hear.

The peeping sound that draws us near.
For in the hush where springtime starts,
The world is mended—Chick by chick,
And heart by heart.

DocBott