So strange to have to look down
To observe something fitted for ascension–
Small though you were, trembling on the ground–
So I hastily in human pretension

Saved you from the stray cat’s petty maw–
Raptured you with hands cupped
From the impending unsheathed claw–
And flightlessly you were lifted up.

But as I placed you atop the woodpile rafter
As your self-appointed unsung hero,
Standing by to ensure your safety thereafter,
Your infantile wings unfurled, and lo!–

It was you who then looked down at I,
A beast who walks upright but cannot fly.