The Riddle of the Nightjar
Until I met the Great Nightjar,
with purple mouth a’smile,
on a quiet black night,
I had never been given
the answer and asked to
supply the puzzle.
“Pride” it cooed into
the velvet sky.
“What am I if
I can turn life-giving
water into poison?
If a little of me will bind
concrete to build the world
but too much will grab your
Legs and suck you under?
That is the riddle of Pride.”
So I answered; the secretive
King of the Nocturne
cried in frustrated anguish,
arcing on the wing into the night.
Written by Marcy Erb of Illustrated Poetry
