The singer in the woods

The singer in the woods
Perches on a branch and broods
Unwittingly dropping its façade mysterious
And weaving a spell melodious
Doused in a nostalgic light
Over passersby and seekers alike
Its sun-soaked feathers
Spread in richly textured layers
Stained in many a hue
Ranging from deep midnight blue
To a dark rusty brown
Under a lightly tousled crown
And eyes glowing red
Carrying tales unsaid
It sings of wistful longing
And of a past elusive
Snatched from its home
And dropped into the abode of another
Hatched and cared for like their own
It reminisces those initial days
Spent waiting for the flutter of wings
And the euphoric sight of beaks
Laden with wriggling delicacies
And it thrived under the nurturing presence
Of the maternal birdie of the nest
While days passed no different from the rest
Yet as it grew feathers so did an urge
Compelling its vocal chords to give in
Only to be promptly tossed out
For crooning rather than cawing
A tune that struck a discordant note
From those of its supposed kin
Yet it refused to hold back
As it roamed the wild yonder
Its luminous essence set free

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