I stood on the wobbly chair
Again rudely intruding into the home
Of sticks and grass and wool.
Those four tiny, speckled miracle-packages
Had miraculously transformed into
Fluffy, somewhat ugly, chicks.
I wondered how they kept warm
They had, after all, only a downy parka.
The chicks were —
So helpless. So small. (And so very hungry, too.)
But I knew God was watching over them
For He seeth “every little sparrow that falls.”
Those fluffy, somewhat ugly chicks
Were in good hands.