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.
Copyright © Emma Goodridge-Hobson | Year Posted 2023
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