Chirp, chirp goes the bluejay,
Flying about the clear blue sky,
On fine feathered wings,
Not worrying about a thing.
The small bird lands on a branch,
Overseeing the old ranch,
Horses run about here and there,
While longhorns are grazing everywhere.
The birds watches a cowboy rustle a calf,
And people gathering around the other half,
Clapping their hands and cheering,
As the bluejay sits on his perch peering.
The small bird flies away,
Not wanting to stay,
Flying into the setting sun,
For the day is almost done,
He will return tomorrow,
And never feel a day of sorrow.
Copyright © Robert Needles