A Bird on
the Bough
On one
Sunday as I say
It was not
a fine sun day
The sky roared
in angry tone
And
frightened the bird that lived alone.
Quickly was
I soaked in rain?
As I placed
my feet in vain
Lightening
snapped my ugly shape
Thunder joined to jeer with claps.
I and the
friend trees trembled hard
The
branches broke and fell with thud
Only a
small bird on the bough
Perching
firm was what I saw.
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