This is good poetry. A baby bird wants to fly. It needs to grow up. Its mother feeds it worms and honeybells. It has its father and it has his mother. They are his family. He wakes up in the morning and sleeps when the night befalls. These are his cycle of days as it spends time in his nest. It stretches its wing's and jumps up in the air to fly. It will have it's own adventures. It will go ahead to seek food on it's own. It will no longer be a baby bird but will have memories of being one. It will have fond recollection's of those days.