Pipit's Nest

One sunday evening in mid May A bright though fairly breezy day The wind blown grass did nod and sway As through lush green mead i trod my way. As i walked through a patch of rush A bird scarce half the size of full grown thrush Upward from the ground did fly Uttering forth a chirping cry. By her worried chirps i knew 'twas clear That this bird's nest was somewhere near And my presence caused her much unrest As she feared that i might rob her nest. On hands and knees i searched around The six foot square of rushy ground Parted a bunch of rush and see The meadow pipit's family. In little nest of dried grass there Four pink skinned nestlings blind and bare With mouths agape the pipits brood Thought i was mother back with food. In little cheeps i heard them plead As with mouths wide open they begged for feed These future songsters of the mead Four tiny birds of pipit breed. On nearby hedge a throstle sang And all around me voice of gladness rang And multicoloured butterflies Were dancing in the bright May skies. Since then a month of days gone by And still my heart pulsates with joy Each time the pleasant memory Of pipit's nest return to me.