He stood with head lowered,
cupped hands sheltering a
forlorn baby black bird.
Agony was creating
gray shades in his aura.
He was reaching with love
to a life form struggling
without a mothers care.
“I found him alone under
the tree, Will you help me
return him to his nest?”
Feeling his pain, I replied:
“He will not be accepted
back again to the nest.
Let us find a safe spot
for him to rest. We shall
do what we can to help,
but remember: in the end,
Mother Nature knows best.”
Next day we interred him
in a cardboard box.
Sixty years later, we sat
side by side, grief burning in
our eyes and squeezing our hearts.
His mother, my wife, lay before us.
After years of suffering,
she had finally found peace.
His hand covered mine as he
squeezed softly and said:
“She is finally at rest,
Mother Nature knows best”.

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    This Poems Story

    When we lived on the Warm Springs reservation and our son discovered a bird rejected and ejected from the nest.