70. March 11th
In the boughs of the old tree,
Birds make their nests,
Squirrels hide away,
No one can see there it is unknown.
Hiding away up there in the tree,
Unseen, unspoken of, whatever could it be?
Peaceful or not it hides from view,
Leaving us waiting, wishing too.
The hawk's powerful eyes cannot see it.
The bat with perfect hearing, listens in vain.
The dog's sought after nose, senses nothing.
It remains hidden, hidden away.