Mother’s Grief

Mother bird is back.

She has dinner,

Served live in a red beak

She bobs, little eyes darting.

But baby bird is not there.

This happened yesterday,

When she stood in the rain.

It will happen again tonight.

How can I tell her, the effort is for nought;

That I found him and I carried him away;

That as a mother, soon she must grieve

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