Disclaimer: I do not own To Kill a Mockingbird or anything else you recognize.
Little Lost Lamb
Hush-a-by baby on the tree top,
He lived in a fantasy, everyone and everything was perfect, and any and all worries or complaints he had were immediately hushed and pacified.
He was a caterpillar, safely confined in his cocoon.
When the wind blows the cradle will rock.
The trouble blew in with the wind. Suddenly, there was a threat to his peaceful life. Lives were in danger. Though he seemed worried, deep, deep down in his heart he was confident that no trouble would actually be made. No one would truly get hurt.
His nest had been shaken, and now it was close to the edge.
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall,
It didn't end like it should have. They had been wrong. They had done the wrong thing. But everyone acted like it was expected, like it was right, even. Why? Why was he the only one crying?
He fell for the first time, and realized he could not fly.
He fell down from the clouds after that. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't fly back up. His wings had been clipped. Had he cut them himself?
He tried to stop her from falling so hard, tried to teach her to walk instead of fly. But no. She was too young, still too pure.
He had grown up, and lost his wings. Never again could he fly free.
Down tumbles baby, cradle and all