One of three poults
he spurred our sympathy
with his nightly limp across the lawn,
always the last
in a chorus line of five.
We found his challenge endearing,
his mother’s patience merciful
as she hung back
while siblings romped free,
splashing in the creek
chasing each other
through grass and field.
We hardly recognized him
soaring into our yard months later
fully grown, still hobbling,
a solo act this time.
No sibling or parent by his side,
thriving despite the odds.
