The lark’s nest
A lark’s nest I’ve discovered,
My lips are sealed quite tight.
On moorland it’s well-covered
Completely out of sight.
Inside it chicks are sleeping
wrapped in a bed of down.
They wake and all start cheeping,
the nest is soft and warm.
The parent larks stay flying
close to the fledglings’ nest.
I’m sure they sense I’m trying
to do what suits them best.
Hid by a sloe I’m straining
To where I am most near.
On tip-toe I stand craning,
I hold my breath and peer.
For boys will gather berries,
And foxes always bite.
But where the lark is serried
I’ll keep well out of sight.
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