Memories Of A Pipit's Nest

Good memories live on only true to say

I still visualize that balmy evening in May

The old fields lush and green in the prime of the Spring

And the wildborn nesting birds did whistle and sing

A brown gray speckled bird half of the size of a full grown thrush

Flew upwards from a patch of rush

I carefully did search around the rush covered ground

And a cup shaped nest of dried grass found 

In it four pink skinned nestlings young, blind and bare

Of a bird of the fields her sort not rare

The pipit's at most a few days old family

A gift of Nature for to live in memory

With gaping mouths the meadow pipits brood

Thoughts i was mother and were begging for food

But they quickly tired of begging and went back to rest

And were soon fast asleep in their cosy nest

Their mum nearby perched on a sapling tree

Was chirping aloud continually

She worried that a human to her young was near

And for their safety she naturally did fear

Of my past memories of Nature one of the best

I left her for to return to her nest

A memory from long ago and far away

That does remain fresh in me today.