Emily Dickinson's charming poem "A Bird Came Down The Walk" is an account of just that—the poet watches the bird and its actions intently, with fascination and a congenial, humorous view. The bird eats a worm, drinks water from a blade of grass, and hops to let a beetle pass.
Then the poet breaks from her observation of the bird to begin interacting with it:
"Like one in danger, Cautious, I offered him a Crumb And he unrolled his feathers And rowed him softer home—"
The bird lifts off without taking the crumb of food, and here the poem makes its most powerful statement, that the bird flies off softly, in total control, softer than
"Than Oars divide the Ocean, ... Or Butterflies, off Banks of Noon Leap, plashless as they swim."
In other words, the creatures of nature exist unto themselves, and inhabit the world in a way we can never really hope to touch. We can only watch in wonder.
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