Mother Bird

Upon the highest branch, glistened with dew, Of the strongest oak in a forest, dense, There rests a songbird of divine essence, With a song as soothing, found far and few. Beneath her tough wing, hidden warm and close, A little fledgling rests his weary beak; Bruised from his flying, too close to the peak, But sheltered by she who does love him most. And that little fledgling, high in the trees, So sweetly guarded close by his true nurse, May seek a small feed from her beak or purse, But furthest too fly, he is last to leave. Though he burned and tarnished his silken wings, From ambitions flown to close to the sun, Across the world's oceans that bird would come, With the loving song his mother bird sings.