Gentle fledgling of a feather unknown
fallen out of its nestled home
and lost, wandering through reed and willows
under blackbirds’ shrills and bullfrogs’ bellows
on stilty legs and useless wings, still,
into the wetland chorus it sings.

Gentle fledgling lost and alone,
no chance now of returning home.
The hawk, the owl, the grubby mink,
will spy and stalk and stealthy-slink
and though this bird will never fly
the moon will rise, and time goes by.

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