The Rook

While walking a bike path one crisp Copenhagen day,
I met a blue-black rook who hopped into my way.

With a dark, canny eye, he looked up from my feet
before dropping an acorn from his sharp, nimble beak.

Then he strutted off calmly, advancing his plan,
and waited by the trail like a feathered highwayman.

Straight away, I sized up his clever little scheme
and realized how I could easily intervene.

The rook might wait awhile for a timely foot or wheel
to break the acorn’s shell and reveal his meager meal.

Continuing my stride, I subtly altered my gait
and shattered the acorn with my colossal weight.

Lifting my shoe, I studied the peppered debris,
looking for the precious nut I had hoped to set free.

Oh no! Did my dense foot pulverize the acorn
and secure me a parliament’s eternal scorn?

But then as I stepped aside from the impact site,
an unbroken kernel emerged into plain sight.

The rook removed the morsel right there before me
and went bounding away with his newfound bounty.

He stood for a moment and looked at me askance,
then flew to his rookery without a further glance.

I stood for a moment, judging the boorish bird
who had flown to his home without a single word.

But what debt was owed? What true thanks did I expect?
A nod from the rook? A bow of heartfelt respect?

The story I gained that crisp Copenhagen day
was quittance enough for kindness given away.