The Wilderness Quail

They named me the wilderness quail I'm not as pretty as other birds are, my feathers are golden, brown and frail; I hide when a storm starts and my bizarre behavior becomes fret, no stone pine can protect me on a noon with aflare lightenings crossing the semi-dark atmosphere. Uncommon and ignored by all I spent my day searching for food by a lake and wait... until an unsuspicious lavaret comes afloat, sometimes he stays at the bottom for fear and I have to fly miles to provide a meal for my chicks waiting in the branches of a fir: I'll be disappointed coming home without a kill! Although I'm so neglected by all the blue-winged teals, I consider myself to be humble and kind in deeds: helping a lost sparrow find her desperate mother who is searching for him everywhere near a pond, or a brook where reptiles attentively wait for their prey; I'll hide him under my wings if he's ever in danger! By now everybody can guess where this place is: I dwell in Southern Italy, a land that many envy for her stunning scenery and delicious fruits, where no vigilant quail ever goes hungry! Keep me company and I show you the beauity and the tranquility of this lovely country!