GABRIELLE GARLAND, The little bird thought she was going to die out there in the forest. All alone. She called out, in her sweet baby voice, to see if her ma would hear her. Her voice was so pure, it carried for miles through the trees. And suddenly, out of nowhere, her ma came flying down and scooped her up in her breast. And the little baby bird chirped with delight, She held on tight to the trees till they came to a beautiful place. Where she and her ma and pa could live happily together. The sun shone brightly, the air was clear, and she was home. —Clare, The Nightingale (2018), 2025