The Young Pheasant Poem by Jan Sand

In my yard the speckled ball
Stood on thin black legs.
Resting on my hand,
A baby pheasant.
Head emerged, it looked at me
With fearful eyes.
It slept on cotton in a mixing bowl.
So, drop by drop,
I squirted food into its mouth.
It cuddled on my lap
And closed its eyes like a cat
When I stroked its head.
Five days, it stayed.
On the fourth it strutted
In a cakewalk stride.
On the fifth
It weakened and it died.