Wait With The Violets Poem by Ima Ryma

The storm did blow me from the nest,
Blown to the ground with wounded wing.
Below I watched above the rest
Of my family departing.
I know they know they cannot be
Of aid and must fly on their way.
They have no choice but to leave me
All on my own as helpless prey.
Instinct does tell me where I'm bound.
Some predator will be my death.
Lovely violets all around
To comfort me till my last breath.

Huddled alone where violets lie,
It is my time and place to die.