The Nest

As spring air warms up softly And dawn choruses return, The birds begin a-nesting Gathering twigs at every turn. Hedgerows throng with movement As the nests are feathered, then Birds lay pale blue clutches, The Robin and the Wren. In branches high above the ground Within the old Oak tree, And nestled in the branches Of the Ash so carefully, Sits the nest of fledglings, Far up into the sky And another year of youngsters Take their wings and learn to fly.