The mother aside still motherhood belied,
And the heart in me struggled still.
I learned in my youth, an old, new truth;
’Mongst men and beasts and birds,
Some grow uncouth, nor ever show ruth;
And for fools waste not your words.
Filled oft to the beak, as the days made a week,
The fledglings and I were friends,
And over the creek the folk came to speak
Of their beauty, their cuteness and ends.