Hummingbird Saga

A hummingbird arrived when I was standing
Near a Boojum tree
Which had a vine displaying long red flowers.
The bird hovered, motionless, wearing chartreuse plumage
It objected to my presence so near its food
I had no time to move.

I heard nature’s voice.
A subtle, soundless concept fluttering, but unmistakable.
“I need your love. Stay! Eat and share life’s pleasures.”
The bird’s wingless flight is a study in irony.
Such a huge, invisible effort is so graceful, poised.
Contrast the Boojum, erect, inglorious, awkward.

When we first met you invited my passion.
You spoke with kindness
I watched dumbfounded, clumsily,
I was caught in time.
The tassel on the Boojum, obtuse, graceless yet fragile
Heckled my unseemly posture.
Too enthralled to move I obstructed nature’s goal.

At first the bird whispered, “Will you love me?”
I was too eager, too close.
Beauty at first confuses those upon whom it shines.
There are other birds whose flight is patient.
Their songs are urgent,
Their colors less entrancing.
These fail to inspire.

“Can I meet you again? Fly to me softly.
Wait, prove nature’s voice. Or,
Prove the impossibility.
Bring meaning to my life.
Stay, accept the red flower.
We’ll solve the paradox.”

“No, I don’t trust you.
We cannot yet unite but kindred spirit be blessed.”

Why is life so cruel?
So close to sweetness, so divided by obstacles;
Teasing me with beauty then isolating me as victim?

I stumbled back.
“I only happened here. My position will improve.
Ignore the Boojum, see the vine,
Accept me and this red flower.”

The bird danced in brilliance.
“You have hurt me.”
A wary eye met mine.
“You are not true,”
She sang before fairness could appeal.

“Witness the integrity of my Soul!”

“No. I am too careful,”
The bird chided
Inspiring a traumatic sadness.
My heart surged to correct, but She was gone.
I was alone with my awkwardness.

When love speaks so soon any movement to accept
Diminishes nature’s charm.
Can love hover longer?
Or is this emotion fleeting?
“The Boojum is irrelevant.
Share my sweet red flower,” I entreated.
“Accept the possibility!” I cried to no one.

The vine abhors the Boojum tree.
Its fine leaves and red flowers slowly argue against reality.
Against the thorns of the bush, I make my empty case.
How can my presence cause so much hurt?
Careless is worse than clumsy.
Can innocence ever make amends?
I live to kiss the hummingbird.~

See reference, a poem by Lewis Carroll, "The Hunting of the Snark".