The Last Cuckoo In The Nest Poem by Mark Heathcote

Even so near or look at her
'Question, do we stop & console
Or walk by at a leisurely, stroll
We'll walk over do you concur'.
She carries a basket of eggs
Sit's by a coppice that's regrew.
Her own, hearts yolk split into
And, cries out her teary dregs.

Her pink knees & legs tremble.
To the sobs that go unheard.
Birdlike in a nest; sits inert
So deeply hurt it's distressful.
Young lady brush yourself down
Remove that frown, he isn't worth it.
If false, he was counterfeit;
Not fit to lie beneath your eiderdown.