The Feed

The Feed

Holding a grain of millet in her back
The mother sparrow has come to feed.
The young ones are so tiny and small
From head to toe they are beaks
When they cry.
One whom the mother sparrow should feed?
Conjoining beak with beak
With whom should she solace?
Fissuring the atom,
You have learnt to weep and wail in a loud tone,
You have learnt to set life on foot
Could you split the grain?
One grain to be fed to the ten young ones.