In disarray, the bush fell
to the daisy-dotted ground–
a hand reached to gather the limbs,
then stopped at a soft cheeping sound.
A nest of twigs and twine–
home of featherless bird babies–
once secure on the fork of the limbs,
now lay scattered in the daisies.
The cheep-cheep of the birdies
could no longer be denied;
the big man picked them up
and with no one looking, cried.
Published in Ozarks Mountaineer,
The Arkansas Democrat Magazine,
and Poems by Poets’ Roundtable
cCopyright, 2012 Freeda Baker Nichols