Chicken Knows It’s on a String

The hermit and the crawling infant
Hold internal tethers in common—

Each wants to reach the outer orbit
From warm safety’s centered provider,

But not to risk exceeding help’s range—
For the hermit, from society,

For the crawling infant, from mother.
It would be sweet if hermits could learn,

Eventually, more independence,
But all humans are a bit like ants,

Prone to perish without resupply
From connection to the colony.

That’s the swap the infant manages,
Not always smoothly—from caregiver

Moving out to wide society,
Trading one dependence for the next.

The hermit can’t stand it, wants further,
Farther, final independence, but

Every human knows what final means.
There are very few hermits, meaning

Either no one ever pulls it off,
Or the one, true hermit flew the coop.