As if born in my inbox full color
animal babies burst to life on my screen;
one with an open yellow bill,
a wide-eyed one lifting its trunk,
another spiraled in slothfulness,
a gaping-mouthed alligatorette,
a miniature hydro-dynamic dolphin.
All baby somethings are adorable . . .
except for the knobby warthog, perhaps.
And the fifty wormy rattlesnakes
engendered no maternal aaahs, nor did
the Jurassic sight of baby bald eagles
naked as jaybirds.
Survival is something to praise, though;
the prefledged owl adopted
by a caring housecat, or
the orphaned fawn fostered
by a pack of hunting dogs,
brings spontaneous tears to one's eyes.
The oldest among us welcomes survivors,
and applauds perseverance whether fully furred,
plumed, scaled, or scarred.
But being the oldest does bring unsuspected trials
and the possibility of a lonely unforeseen end.