It’s all word for the best, they refused to leave so I stirred the nest.
Put branches with the pointy side up, I preferred no rest.
The people could not sit down, because of the discomfort.
It was missing hurt, so I took them up on eagle wings.
They were enjoying the ride as a new people’s spring.
I went to the top, and I did what some would call an illegal thing.
Suddenly I turned, and to their horror they started falling.
I could hear their calling, and it was appalling but they had to start hauling.
This is not sink or swim, because  I think to win, so I will stand by.
We’re gonna die! Flap and try, When you want to rise you will, command I.
I could see them coming up to reach me, I am glad I did not sound preachy.
Because do as I do, not just as I say, and if you follow me I can teach thee.
Isn’t poetry much the same way, with the nest and  flight.
Every time I write a new poem I am unsure if it is right.
That’s when my nest has to push me to where it is bright.
An eagle that never learns to fly, will be food for predators.
And what would the world be, without me pursued by metaphors.