Page 5 - The Gluckman Occasional Number Two

That evening those words were still in his brain
As Zoomer sapped of strength and wracked with pain
Emerged to flutter feebly from the cave,
The lagging last link of an airborne chain.

“Uphill” was the word that knitted his brow,
Although he could barely figure out how
To keep moving his wings, much less ascend—
An effort of will was most needed now.

In fact he was really not in good form:
He fought a light breeze that felt like a storm,
And insects whizzed past him as he mounted
As high as he could up into their swarm.

Abruptly one wing sagged—it made him frown;
He found himself slowly spiraling down,
No longer in command of his flight plan,
A gliding and circling small fluff of brown.

Poor Zoomer thought he was going to crash:
He saw his whole life go by in a flash,
And knew deep inside he’d keep on dropping,
To fall in the lake with barely a splash.