The Writing Lark

A flock of yellowhammers are in the hedgerow.
Ae yellae yite undulates in flight
To its nest of moss, in a tuft of coarse grass.
Three eggs, a purplish clutch; fine lines blotched
And inked with brown are boldly jotted down.
The scribbling lark has made these marks,
A cryptic watchword inscribed by the bird
Whose message begs, Dinna tak ma eggs!