Katydid clinging to the side-view mirror
For 200 miles to college and back,
Watched by my daughter as it preened itself
And hid in the narrow shadow from the sun
And tried to keep its wings from breaking off in
The seventy mile an hour wind.
She saw something in its tenacity,
Its fear of leaving even such a harrowing perch
As she thought about her first visit
To her home for the next four years.
It tore my heart to see it cling
And hoped it would not drop
Before I could slow and stop
And set it gently in a field
By a highway convenience shop.
We did stop and found some grass
Yet still it clung onto my palm
with a tight and tingly grasp,
I had to gently brush it off.
Finally separate, it hopped away
To revel in its freedom and
The breezy ride it just had,
Laughing, leaping from my hand.