By Donna Ashworth, in her book, Life.
My nest is as it should be now, empty.
Tidy, ordered, calm.
My babies have grown, beautifully, and flown.
Just the way I taught them to.
And my heart is full of pride, and love, still so full of love.
But oh there is an ache there, a throb, a pang.
I have given of myself in a way that only a mother can.
So consuming is that gift,
there is scarce room for much else to thrive.
So what now?
My empty nest feels hollow,
the echo of my own breath rings in my ears.
My worries have not flown with the fledglings,
they linger still,
but now without the comfort of a slumbering head on a pillow up-stairs.
My imagination tells the tales I don't want to see,
and my spare time,
once so coveted,
is now my enemy.
My nest is as it should be now, empty.
But I will not be empty little one.
I will fly, just like you, find my new place in this story.
Play music, bring friends, make noise and laughter and fill the house with life,
so that when you come home, you see nothing to worry about here, for that will clip your beautiful little wings.
And you will remember how nurturing your nest once was.
And you will crave the feeling of it, just once in a while.
This nest will never close and nor will I let it lose its love.
Fly, my loves, fly.
Just remember the way back home.
By Donna Ashworth
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