Wild Birds
WILD BIRDS
We will fly South again this year
For some of us it’s a regular thing
An annual cycle it would appear
Seeking warmth, back in Spring
We are, at least, all free to fly
Not caged, as poor cousins are
And as we leave, hear our cry
A distant land we know is far
Returning, we know the spot
Back to breed, raise our young
Most will make it, few will not
We are all of the same tongue
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