It flutters it's beaming wings
To seek its nest upon the mahogany.
Why not it nest elsewhere except
This rare and durable tree, I wondered?
Twice or thrice I saw it over,
Pirouette, stair at the torrent over.
I feel my heart throb at the apex.
What a kindred bird it is that hovers
To seek a refuge upon the mahogany
And dares the torrential wind
That moves it hither and tither,
Like a jarred-drunkard drifting in winds.
How strange it is, I thought within me,
To see a skylark flying in the rain.
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