a baby bird with a wounded wing;
she used to fly, she used to sing
but she cheeps in pain
as she gets soaked in the harsh rain
the pretty little bird is helpless
but her agony is made less
a little kind boy comes along
nursing her wing back with a song
the baby bird could fly again
her wings were heaven-sent
the little boy waved at her
but she hesitated, she was bothered
she flew back down to him
in his palm, she placed her healed wing
she let her thanks be sung
through a tiny pulse beating in his palm
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem