The Foster Mother's Love

By habit, a cuckoo bird, In a crow’s nest it laid, A single egg of its own, A grayish colored one. The crow lived in the tree, With its laid eggs three, But as its own henceforth, It cared that came as fourth. All the four, in time, hatched But the fourth one not matched With its color slightly variant, And its voice, a bit different. The cuckoo chick slightly cooed. While the crow chicks cawed. Yet its love, the mother crow Equally for all, it did show. One day, when the mother bird, Out it went in search of food, The crow chicks pushed out The cuckoo chick from the nest. The crow chicks hated the odd one, For its ugly look from the day one. The chick bud untrained to fly It crawled, as it couldn’t go high. It became a prey to a vulture, The poor chick lost its future. The mother crow cried and cried, Till it became tired and tired. See the love of a mother, Be its own blood or foster. A truth it’s world over, A bird or human, be whatever.