A Feast of Lanterns, by L. Cranmer-Byng, [1916]
THE LITTLE CROW
The little lonely crow Hovered around a little empty nest, Waiting and wailing for the mother breast. Ah! cold and far afield she cannot hear The call incredulous of death. And so It lurked in the old forest for a year. And through the night its little piteous cry Brought tears to all who wandered nigh; As though in broken song it would repay The debt of life to her who silent lay. All other nestlings know a mother's care; Thou, only thou shalt find not anywhere, Nor warm dark wings fold down on thy despair.