A child climbs into a karaka tree and settles into a nest of leaves, pretending to be a bird. She makes up a wordless song that keeps singing by itself and turns sad at the end. The daisies below won’t play along when she threatens to bite their heads off, and her little brother points out that she has legs, not wings. But none of that really matters to her. The sky becomes a blue nest, the sun a mother bird keeping it warm, and the child feels the truth of her own game. The poem captures that private, stubborn magic of childhood make-believe, where feeling like a bird is more convincing than any proof from the outside world. The mood is dreamy and light, with a small ache of sadness underneath, as if the speaker knows the game is fragile but wants to stay inside it.
When I Was a Bird — Summary
I climbed up the karaka tree Into a nest all made of leaves But soft as feathers. I made up a song that went on singing all by itself And hadn’t any words, but got sad at the end. There were daisies in the grass under the tree. I said just to try them: “I’ll bite off your heads and give them to my little children to eat.” But they didn’t believe I was a bird; They stayed quite open. The sky was like a blue nest with white feathers And the sun was the mother bird keeping it warm. That’s what my song said: though it hadn’t any words. Little Brother came up the patch, wheeling his barrow. I made my dress into wings and kept very quiet. Then when he was quite near I said: “Sweet, sweet!” For a moment he looked quite startled; Then he said: “Pooh, you’re not a bird; I can see your legs.” But the daisies didn’t really matter, And Little Brother didn’t really matter; I felt just like a bird.