The warbler, the dove, and the little fish

A fair and tender rosebush a hedgerow did adorn, And there the warbler had brooded her young brood; Thus had been born, happy, the merry little crowd; But a disaster, O heavens, for them was held in store! Amid the heaven’s bolts the tempest thundered loud; And the rain, in torrential flood immense, Across the fields was forming a lake extense And soon the hedgerow inundated.

Already far from the rosebush the nest is swaying; The warbler covers it and yields herself to fate; She has not her heart steadied upon hope; The star of salvation gives her a divine smile. The water runs off. Yet, beside the meadow’s waters, It forms a brook, thus, with the floating nest, Which, before the perils found at last upon the bank, Reaches easily a navigable course.

In the midst of the river a sandbank rises Above the waters’ height;

A zephyr that aids a wave which bears it, Impels the nest thither with gentleness. They are just transports of delight That the bird feels on touching the little nest, Yet, suddenly, something somewhat bitter: In this place, what is her destiny? Her fledglings are already wanting food: Must she, to find afar her sustenance, Leave upon the sand the nest exposed to an evil event? If they found salvation in a friendly wave Should they not fear a wave that is an enemy, Or, in a baleful effect, some blow of the wind? In the same instant, there, a wild dove alights: “O mighty bird, excuse one who dares To appeal to your kindness:

It is a matter of saving a family, in short; Oh! give back the hedgerow, the rosebush, the garden To my children, here, from the flood’s cruelty. Deign to open for us your generous wings: It is not so far, and you, with vigorous talons, Never have you borne so light a burden.” The dove did not make himself deaf to such a voice. In a brief tone: “Your misfortune I deplore And I lament that a circumstance, then, of which I blush, Obliges me to follow this my flight’s course, Denying me the pleasure of giving you my aid, Remain, however, without disquiet, And follow the counsel of a solicitude That makes me happy to give you:

Sustain yourself in faith… The benefactor genius That saved your life, will not fall out With you and abandon you.”

And content with himself he rose into the air. A little carp, swimming, listened To all, saw all, and understood.

“Take comfort,” she said, “O desperate mother! I understand your immense, embittered grief, Not all is yet lost.

Strength I have none to spare;

As for the bank, however, I think to lead you there.” And grasping in her mouth some long filaments Thick across the width of the nest, She unwinds it and makes it run upon her way. The warbler, upright, boldly helped, Opening her wings to the winds.

The load stirred, and the fish that pulled it, To float without risk, balanced the march, Both attentive to the torrents.

Near the edge, then… They arrived!

Joyful, the warbler and her children found Abundant grass amid tall hay;

And the little fish says to her: “O my dear, at least, With the great ones, tomorrow, take care; of misery The servants of matter do not hear the clamor: Their gifts are always counsels, condolences; Always the cordial assistance Will you find only among the small.” C. Dombre.