Mayhem

The setting sun did not herald,
unaware of the coming plight
The mother enveloped its tired wings,
On the morrow is fledglings' flight.

Thinking of the coming dawn,
the birdie settled in its nest,
trying to sooth her little ones,
to catch up with some rest.

The darkness seemed unnatural,
the rustling leaves deafening,
the fiery sky was a jolt,
there was a rude awakening.

Haplessly flapping its tired wings,
the mother soared to a safer nook,
losing a combat with raging nature,
the blows,fledglings quietly took.

It was fatal,crashing the nest
down came the babies too,
While many wings flapped in morning sky,
But no flying for the lifeless two!