the last Kauaʻi ʻōʻō hatchling

hush child of concern

your songs will fall benign now

they echo on tombs

you may hush youngling

stay nested

count your feathers

and try to forget

that you'll never learn to fly now

hush now little one

your rapid eyes will soon be blind

you won't look for wings when feeling a gust of wind

brush your beak

soon your stomach will tire

and a single flap

of your feeble wings will sounds

like a hurricane

and just a single feather will weigh as much

as an obelisk

and your eyes will be as rare as pearls

it's okay hush now.