Cuckoo

                  Far away in a
                land torn with war,
             she looked for a home.
          She was not as pretty as
       doves adoring lush gardens or
           as exuberant as ducks to             play   
             with,neither as useful          as pigeons
              in war. The lonely            little cuckoo
              flew from burnt          trees to desolate
            orchards. A black       bird with yellow 
         spots on her feathers     that other birds   
      found ugly. She looked for a home where
     she'd be accepted for who she was. The
      world hurled poisonous arrows at her.
      Wounded, she fell in a garden waiting
       to die until two little human hands
        cocooned her. A girl nursed her agony
          and made her feel  loved. All her sorrow
          began to melt and pour as rain on the fiery
           land. She cried with her heart,  her honeyed
            voice, never heard before. The  little girl danced
              in joy and kissed her wings to   let her fly but
               little  cuckoo sang to a world    lost in pain, her
                music blooming pink buds,        rushing through
                   blue rivulets, swaying              branches with
                    soothing wind, caressing           parched souls,
                     raising spirits  of warriors            with hope.
                      She stayed for  love,                     ecstatic 
                        at her newfound lilac                      tune.
                       She'd found home
                       in a         land
                       torn          with
                       w  ar to      dr en ch
                      it  wi  th        h  e  r
                     di   vi   ne        s  o   ng.


This poem has been written using the Shape poetry form which usually indicates the theme of the poem through a shape describing it.