The Season

There's a bird on the wire overlooking fields of grain; He's been here once before but it didn't look the same. The flowers are wilted, there's no seeds upon the ground; Even though the breeze blew he could hear no sound. Somewhere from the distance came a noise that he once knew, 'Twas the sound of the dogs as a group of pheasants flew. Then he heard canons roar, watched the first of the birds fall; Heard commands from the men, sounding like the southern drawl. Gathered up their trophies as they arrive at this end; Turned around, spreading out, and then started back again. Seemed to be a routine, to him their plans seemed so clear; He only knew they'd leave when there were no more birds here. So now he had to move for to find himself a meal, Might be somewhere near by with a few seeds he can steal. The day was growing dark, less and less he sang his song; His heart sank as snow fell, this season was to be long.