Song of The Sandhill Crane No 1: ABAB

A descension of value bows night scenes, the purple canopy edges its hoist, spirits cool Platte River to lose its sheen, Nebraskans wake to clarion fields voiced. A loyal guest calls, it's the Sandhill Cranes, dancing lessons, fields fattening corn orts, pecking and choosing established campaigns. Last state, go afoul, -- a date with the courts. Locals aid their tally, most from afar, It is nature's clock, all good things must end, fly north to breed, and brood, and up to par, A month's here, till next year, that's how the trend. Awnings grey, triumphant stirs, the tension, inspiring, crescendo ... the ascension.