I climbed up the karaka tree
Into a nest all made of leaves
But soft as feathers.
I made up a song that went on singing all by itself
And hadn’t any words, but got sad at the end.
There were daisies in the grass under the tree.
I said just to try them:
‘I’ll bite of your heads and give them to my little children to eat.’
But they didn’t believe I was a bird;
They stayed quite open.
The sky was a blue nest with white feathers
And the sun was the mother bird keeping it warm.
That’s what my song said: though it hadn’t any words.
Little Brother came down the path, wheeling his barrow.
I made my dress into wings and kept very quiet.
Then when he was quite near I said: ‘Sweet, sweet!’
For a moment he looked quite startled;
Then he said: ‘Pooh, you’re not a bird; I can see your legs.’
But the daisies didn’t really matter,
And little brother didn’t really matter,
I felt just like a bird.
- Katherine Mansfield.