The Gift by Pat Wheatley

The Gift

Pat Wheatley

One frigid day near Christmas We walked along the bay, And far among the rocks we spied Old clothing, wet and gray. Then, as our interest prodded us And we got nearer still The gray mass moved and we perceived Matted feathers and a bill.

It launched itself toward the sea And floated just off shore, It had no strength to fly or fish, No strength for any more. We walked back down the beach again With many a backward glance, The wretched bird was motionless, It would not stand a chance.

Why would the silly bird be here Far from its native sea, Far from its mates and food supply, Where it was meant to be?

We got back home and phoned the ARC They said that they would try To get the bird before the night ‘Cos it would surely die. The next day when we phoned to find If they’d achieved their quest We were overcome with joy, The bird was safe at rest!

One brown pelican that day Was saved to live some more, A child of nature lost and found Upon a foreign shore.