Poem: Birding

(Wrong time of year for the bulk of birding, but in my area you still get some nice sights if you look for them.)

Birding

They flew high above,
So graceful, so elegant.
The redden wings,
Keepsake of the robins.
Bluebirds sing, sway, relax.
Red tailed hawks swoop and catch.
Sky is empty now, for a bit,
But once quiet sits:
The grandeur of their flights resume.


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