Here in the fork
The brown nest is seated;
Four little eggs
The mother keeps heated.
While we stand watching her
Staring like gabies,
Safe in each egg are the
Bird's little babies.
Soon the frail eggs they shall
Chip, and upspringing
Make all the April woods
Merry with singing.
~(excerpt "Nest Eggs") Robert Louis Stevenson
No comments:
Post a Comment