a love letter to the cowbird

Dear cowbird,

My birder friend does not love you, and she loves all beings. Almost. I do find love for you, though, in your shiny black and metallic bronze feathers that reflect the light. “Brown-headed” does not do you justice. And I love your melodic voice rising above the other birdsong - complex, loud, beguiling.

My friend says you steal other birds’ nests, knocking their eggs to the ground in order to lay your own there, that you raise your babies in someone else’s home.

Is this a moral failing or it is your nature?

Perhaps your shine, your beauty, and your song blind me to your underlying essence. Perhaps, though, you do not have a choice: you were made this way.

Does this make a difference?