Legend of the Stork

by Harshita Das aged 11

There He lay
By shepherds
And animals
Who kneeled
Before him
Each longing for a glimpse
Awed by his presence
Each offering gifts
Expensive, bought with gold
To the new born King
Yet no one noticed
The bed he slept on
Had no pillow
Moved by the sight
A selfless stork
Pulled out the feathers
Of his own skin
And made the most comfortable pillow
Any baby could ask for
This act
Outlived the stork
By a few centuries
And more
And we still remember him
And the joy of giving gifts
Not from money
But from the heart

The Poetry Zone

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