A mother nested in my loft; with all her children chirping soft,
And how I loved their lullabies when lying down at rest.
Their calls were like a cooling breeze, that made my mind more than pleased,
They gave my soul a soothing ease and held my heart caressed.

So when my daily deeds were done, just before the setting sun,
Slipped behind the mountainside and sunk into the west,
I'd hurry home so fast to find, my feathered friends still singing kind,
And all my grief would flee my mind and make me feel my best.

And in the morning when I'd rise, they'd sing along with all my sighs,
Till soon my company became, more than just my guests.
They were, in fact, my faithful friends, who freed me from a stormy wind,
Of torment that would never end, so truly I was blessed.

But my problems were renewing, the pain again pursuing,
And those worthless, chirping birds, seemed to make of me a jest.
All their time they lived in laughter, without misery or master,
Yet my luck and life disaster? Surely I was hexed.

Once again my days grew dim; my pleasures left me on a whim,
And so the heathen and her spawns were now considered pests.
The song they sang, teased my soul, taunting me into a hole;
Their flaunting soon would take its toll for now I had a quest.

My mission was to rid my ears, of this sound that served me tears,
So with a fearsome rage I beat my fist upon my breast.
Then with a clashing and a clamor, up the steps I stomped and stammered,
Holding in my hand a hammer, a tool to bash the nest.

When I came upon their haven, my loft in which they stayed in,
The gift I was to give them, they never could have guessed.
Just before them I did stand, and just as man will do to man,
With grace and ease let down my hand, my gratefulness expressed.