William Robinson Poet I do not know?

With Broken Wing

With broken wing, he cannot fly
There in the gray, December sky,
And therefore he is bound to die
Upon the cold, cold ground.

With broken wing, his dream is gone,
Of flying where his mate has flown,
And so he's left there, all alone,
With no hope to be found.

A lonely bird with broken wing,
A lark without a song to sing,
Is a sad and melancholy thing,
With darkness all around.

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