 The Little Nest
by Evaleen Stein
A little picture haunts me;
It comes and comes again;
It is a tiny bird's nest,
All ragged from the rain.
It clings within a birch tree
Upon the moorland's edge,
Between the barren branches,
Above the swaying sedge.
The sky is gray behind it,
And when the north winds blow,
The birch tree bends and shivers,
And tosses to and fro.
I wonder, does it haunt them,
The birds that flew away?
And will they come to seek it,
Some sunny summer day?
I wonder, does some redbreast
Upon an orange bough,
Still picture it as plainly
As I can see it now?
Ah me! I would forget it,
Yet still, with sense of pain,
I see this little bird's nest
Within the driving rain. |
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