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