Death of baby birds

Loud noise outside the window.

Crash to table below.

Look out and see

Flower pot knocked over.

Run outside, fearing what will be seen - two baby birds, gasping for air.

Tears welled up within my soul.

Run inside, call SPCA can they come quickly and revive them?

Run back outside, they have stopped breathing.

Now, the mother dove sits on the ledge of the fireplace, looking.

Where are her babies? Where is the nest? She sits there. Silent. Looking.

Is she in mourning? Has she figured it out? Does she know to look down below?

I hear the cry of the mother dove as she walks along the fire escape, hoping to hear the sounds of her babies respond back to her. She still has not gone down below.
Deep sadness in my soul.

Watched as she sat day and night, keeping the eggs warm while they grew. Watched as the cold wind ruffled her feathers at night and wondered, was she hungry? Did the male bird bring her food as she sat on the eggs? Honored her courage and strength caring over her two eggs. Sent her silent prayers her offspring would hatch, grow, and fly into life.

Hatched, only to be destroyed by one fell swoop of a large crow knocking down the flower pot, plunging the babies to their fall and death.

Still hear the mother dove cooing, calling out for her young, no longer breathing, just empty baby shells of thin skin and hair. Wings just formed. Life taken before they had a chance to fly.