A precious tiny little squirt,
Out of a tree up high it fell,
Its little foot was really hurt,
But no one could it tell,
Raven black, its shiny coat,
Blue its eyes; it’s just a baby,
There it lay, beside the road,
A little voice, could you help it maybe?
The little neighbour girl she begged,
Please sir, you love birds,
I was told, you’d not reneged,
To help a creature if it’s hurt,
Two little creatures, young and sweet,
One could talk, and felt its hurt,
I felt, to help them both, it be a treat,
Refuse such gift, would be absurd,
Gently, I did lift it up,
To hold it tight, and near my chest,
My hands a fold, into a cup,
So cradle it, I thought it best,
Instantly this creature small,
It seemed to know of my intend,
That I this creature tall,
A helping hand would lend,
In time of month, it grew so tall,
So beautiful and shiny black,
Then high it flew, and would not fall,
Of faith in nature had no lack,
Of two, came three, and thousands more,
All would every morn, and evening light,
Across my rooftop fly and soar,
Black angels all, oh, what a sight,
My little one, now fully grown,
Still comes to visit in my yard,
Proud such creatures love to own,
Of God’s creation to be part,©28/02/2012
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Ron
What a marvelous memory for the old Bird Whisperer, and how marvelous that 'the child' still visits you and your yard.
Keep On, Keepin On.