The Son could hear the small bird chirping bright
“Skylark?” he beckoned, “Are you alright?”
“My nest,” she said, “go there forthwith
For direction you need not me; with Buzzard will come grith”
And so the Son carried on, deeper into the land
The green and brush swallowed him and his scarred hand
When came across he a fallen oak, its leaves long decayed
And at its base a circle of sprigs, masterfully made
He saw safe within the cradle three tiny orbs
He wondered what had come to Skylark trapped in Buzzard’s claws
Had she overcome the Buzzard preying on her so?
Or had she been made a meal of, did Buzzard’s belly grow?
By surprise he was glad to hear a certain song a’sung
The Skylark she had appeared upon the Son’s satchel hung
“Do you know why I brought you here, alone and so tired?
It was to prove to you just how much you could have sired
And by that I don’t mean kin of which you are one short
But the fact of continuum within which we’re all caught
To show you of the strength within was my final aim
And as broken as you are, you’ve shown ‘self true
Remember this; that with oneself, oneself is always to blame”