Little bird nest, eggs and all,
I come to raid your wares at last.
Over truth, I set my stall:
The life you cradle will not last.
By and by, I'll loose those twigs,
Undressing that which grows beneath;
Make it crumble, brick by brick,
Then on the bones, I'll lay a wreath.
This was never meant to be -
Their flights curtailed by wingless stumps;
Leafless is this aged tree
Which houses all these lifeless lumps.