The birds fly happily away
When the sun returns to her sleep
The wind grows softer with the day
As the warmth burns down deep
The birds fly happily away
To lands where the sunflower grows
And the mushrooms grow in hay
But the moists stay till the ‘morrow
The birds fly happily away
With plummages of different hue
And in strange tunes they cry
Flapping wings across the skies’ blue
The birds fly happily away
Wearily, their young strive to follow
Working, trying to not fly astray
And where the nests are they all must go
Discover more from Oke’s Musings: Poetry, People and Places
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
