Bobbing in and out of the old stone wall
looking for insects large or small
nervous, as she flits to and fro
into the hedgerows forever on the go
Insects scatter under leaves to hide
from a darting beak striking side to side
brave and boisterous, she stands her ground
with that turned up tail she'll challenge all around.
As she plays her game of hide and seek
spiders take refuge from that probing beak
she is small and beautiful, God's little hen
whose presence brings the morn alive again.
The cold days of Winter are on their way
and for this tiny bird there's no delay
she must find a snug and comfy den
to bill and coo with another Wren.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem