A baby bird sits on a branch
his mother sits nearby
She urges him to take the chance,
to take the chance to fly.
And yet he sits there
very scared, and a little cold
He thanks his mother for her care,
but doesn't do as told.
With that, he hops back to the nest
and stays there all his life
Watching the flight antics of the rest,
misery strikes him like a knife.
One day, the bird is not so young
He's old and grey, his time is near,
And his song is nearly sung.
But before he leaves, he sheds one tear.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You have a beautiful style of writing, Margaret and wonderful topics. I'm anxious to read more. Marilyn