The Last Cuckoo In The Nest Poem by Mark Heathcote

Even to near or look at her
"Question, do we stop & console
Or walk by at a leisurely stroll
We'll walk over do you concur".
She carries a basket of eggs
Sits by a coppice that's regrew
Her own, hearts yolk split into
And, cries out her teary dregs.


Her pink knees & legs tremble
To the sobs that go unheard.
Birdlike in a nest; sits inert
So deeply hurt it's distressful.
Young lady brush yourself down
Remove that frown, he isn't worth it.
If false, he was counterfeit;
Not fit to lie beneath your eiderdown.