Maternal

 

Mother redwing

Climbs from stream

Where hidden lies her nest

Little scarlet throats await

The meal that takes her best.

From above a crow down swoops 

To pluck a child or two

Mother sees impending threat

And knows just what to do.

She jabs, she screams, she beats on foe

One can’t perceive her rage.

The Crow retreats

Without his treats

And gives up centre stage.

Oh Mom is glad

The victory had

And lauds her God’s say-so.

But from the rushes.

Satan’s touches.

Comes the second crow.