By Scott Bailey © 2017

The robin in his nest
Perched in the naked branches
Of the blasted tree
Three winds blown
Over the black, sore plain
Wisps of smoke rise
And stings his eyes
Faint embers glow
All around
The hot storm has howled
Now the beast is grounded
Never to rise again
A hard winter will fall
The nest will freeze
No more tears
Will wet the plain

In response to the daily prompt Nest

#DailyPrompt #iamwriting

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