I was roused by a sound
That came out of a tree.
‘Twas a mother who spoke
And she didn’t agree
With some act of her son —-
Just a babe of a bird —-
I so wished I might know
Of the trouble I heard.
It was easy to see
That her patience was spent,
But on what sort of woe
Had her fledgling been bent?
Was he ripping the grass
From the sides of the nest?
Was a feather now gone
From the front of his breast?
Had she feared he was lost
‘Cause he’d vanished from sight?
Were his claws full of mud
So he looked like a fright?
Did he turn up his beak
At the worm she’d prepared?
Was his playing so rough
That his sister was scared?
Could it be that a nap
Was the cause of it all?
That he didn’t come home
When she started to call?
Well, whatever it was,
I would like to report
In her moment of trial,
She had gained my support!
Mother’s Day