Forgotten Ground Regained
The Cuckoo
The cuckoo cries · the coming of springWith a warbling wail · and a wobbling flight.From my house on a hill · I hear his song,Sweet as the syrup · he suckles from flowers.Inconstant the call · the cuckoo makes,And fleeting his favour, · a fickle bird,Quick and crafty, · and cunning his plans,Like lying Lúca · lavishing praiseAnd winning wives · with wiles and charmTo sire his sons · ere the sun arisesIn another’s nest, · ignoble the deed,He flutters fast · and free of worry.
(Note: Lúca is a speculative reconstructed Old English form of the Norsegod Loki.)
Copyright © Adam Bolivar, 2023