Goldenrod
returned to his tree by himself, cradling the little magnolia blossom the whole
way and saying the sweetest words he could think to say: “Oh, you lovely
beautiful pretty magnolia blossom,
sweet and dainty lady, precious adoring darling.” He patted its petal and
kissed it over and over again. When he finally reached the tree, he shouldered
the blossom carefully and scrambled up the branches that led to his nest.
“Mama!”
Goldenrod’s mother and all of his siblings were home now, and his shrill
bellowing sent them all running over at once with concerned looks and concerned
voices; “Goldenrod! Are you all right?” “What happened, Goldenrod?” “Did
something hurt you?” “Did you fall off of something?” Goldenrod shook his head
at all of them and said, “I found this poor little magnolia blossom, and she’s
hurt. Mama, please make her well again!”
“Goldenrod,” said one of his sisters,
“magnolia blossoms aren’t ‘hims’ or ‘hers.’ They’re not like birds. They’re
just blossoms. And it’s not hurt. It’s fallen from the tree, that’s all.”
Goldenrod refused to accept this. “But
oh, just look at her!” he cried. “She is hurt, and I know she feels it!
Please, Mama, please do something!”
The mother finch took the blossom
from Goldenrod and looked it over carefully. His brothers and sisters gave him
odd looks, and he overheard one of his brothers whispering, “Has he gone mad?”
Goldenrod glared at him, but said nothing. His heart and his mind were entirely
focused on the poor blossom.
Finally, his mother sighed and said,
“Goldenrod, I don’t know what I can do for this blossom. Once it’s fallen from
the tree, there really isn’t much you can do to keep it alive.”
“Then let her stay with me!”
Goldenrod cried. “I’ll take care of her! I’ll talk with her and tend to her all
day, and sleep with her by my side all night. Can she stay here, Mama? Please?”
Goldenrod’s mother smiled and said,
“I certainly don’t see why not.”
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