With sparkling brilliance the sky shone,
As the lark soared high and alone;
Singed by the searing heat,
She was alert, she couldn’t be meat.

Unbeknownst was the path,
Which was quite a warpath,
Her feeble mind had but one thought,
Death, it must come nought!

Her children, tiny and weak,
Hunger struck them, their wails bleak,
T’was famine with no food in sight;
But they had to see light.

The tiny worms in her paws died,
For everything in them had dried,
Her wings grew feeble, she felt,
She saw her body melt.

Cruel are the vagaries of nature,
They spare none, no creature.
And the lark fell, dead and gone…
For time and tide waits for none

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