Photograph of my garden last summer by my grandson, Jonathan Whitehead. The birdhouse is still there…I think I saw some potential tenants scouting it out for next spring!
The mother bird stood at the edge of her nest,
Eyeing them all, pest by pest.
“Fly,” she said, and fly they did.
Each and every little kid.
The mother bird pushed them out and away,
Watched them soar into the bright of the day.
“Fly,” she said, and away they did glide.
The rest of the day she sat and cried.