Our house, once had a visit from a baby thrush,
Who took a wrong turning, during a mad rush.
Our back door was open: the weather was hot;
Then suddenly, over the threshold, he did pop.
The next thing, of which, I was then aware,
Was the young thrush flying up our stairs.
On reaching the top, he turned left, and he zoomed,
Through an open door, in to one of our bedrooms.
In his blind panic, he flapped and flew about;
That he was full of fear, there was no doubt.
Exhausted, he settled down on the floor to rest,
And it was then, that I spotted his speckled chest.
The poor little thing – he really was very scared,
And he knew in his heart, he shouldn’t be there.
I offered words of comfort, but he didn’t understand;
All he knew was that he was in a strange looking land.
Back out on to the darkened landing, he soon took flight,
And headed back down the stairs, out towards the daylight.
Through the open door, a familiar land, he now could see:
A land where, once again, he could fly about, wild and free.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem