The maple trees arms reach out as if
To give the little bird’s nest a lift,
They reach their arms up to the clouds
As if to the clouds they must bow down,
Little nests their branches hold
Little nests made of branches of gold,
And inside the nest what else would there be
Other than a bluebird baby.
1 comment:
This was a very creative poem and idea. You used words that pictured the maple tree in my head. That was a perfect poem and don't know what else to chnge about. Keep up the good work!!!
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