Robin

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A nest of bluebell robin's eggs

Does sit upon a bow.

Three in all these eggs do count,

The mother bird, so proud.

A sunny day fine cracks appear

In one blue china shell,

And soon, a baby bird appears

Ungainly, soft, and well.

Presently, another egg

Does break apart to shards

An orange-yellow beak

Speaks its first small chirps and words.

Now only one remains inside

Its shelter, pastel blue,

With baited breath, I wait

For it to gently emerge too.


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